


Of Scattered Ashes

by jackabee



Series: Forgestuck [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Aspect means Magic, Body Horror, Character Death, Childbirth, Drug Withdrawal, Drunken Revelations, Enslavement by Magic, F/M, Ghosts, Gore, Gratuitous Pancake Descriptions, Grimdark, Heartbreak, Human/Troll Relationship, Hypnosis By Vampire, Multi, Past Abuse, Political Clusterfuck, Pregnancy, Psychological Breakdowns, Romance, Species Culture Clash, Suicide, Time Travel, Violence, War, Xanatos Gambits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:25:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 158,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackabee/pseuds/jackabee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To believe that all is peaceful when beasts of legend have been felled is the presumption of fools. Threat does not cease. There are the usual things to be wary of, the radical changes that come with new orders and the passage of years, but sometimes there are other things – terrible things that fill in the dark spaces where the beasts once stood. And though Life may weigh you down, still you stand to challenge them and beat them back into oblivion. It is what the Queen does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Diplomacy

**Author's Note:**

> Note: If you've just happened upon this fic without any idea as to the AU it is part of, I direct your attention to the AU Forgestuck and implore you to read Of Royal Forge, Bridge the River Styx, and The Hierarchy of Snow Angels, in that order, before beginning Of Scattered Ashes, for this is in fact a sequel.
> 
> Thank you for your time, and I hope you enjoy.

_Bid ye hear me eldest ghosts_

_Gathered where thee rest_

_Hither comes a fellow boasts_

_He’ll beat ye naming test_

_Come forth Witch of ticktock spells_

_And Rogue of winged gait_

_Heir, too, from whom madness yells_

_And Seer, who of bloodless peace shall prate_

_Bid the lovelorn Mage to come_

_And the Maid who kiss’t the stars_

_The Knight next, where quick wit makes home_

_And Sylph, fortune’s avatar_

_Come hither Page, from shrouding void_

_Follow, rage-blessed Prince_

_The Bard whom deals in hope destroyed_

_And the Lady Thief Condesce_

_To all of you I call and speak_

_From your skeletons shake the dust_

_Ashes no more, there is havoc to wreak_

_From Tyrian to Rust!_

~*~

Jane had missed proper travelling. The feel of wind playing across her face, watching the countryside and hamlets roll slowly by, the camaraderie of a supper around a campfire – Space made it easy to cut all that out, and while it was lovely and convenient not to have to trek on for months, there was something to be said for taking the long way, of sleeping in a caravan with the soft, peaceful breath of her family all that she could hear at night. It put her mind at ease, and seeing as there was so much to be done these days, it was a respite she greatly needed.

The sentiment, however, was not shared among her cohorts. There was a new complaint every day it seemed – the beds were damp, the nights were cold, the stew tasted like sweat on a swamp-monster’s ass (those had been John’s words just last week, but the provisions were not as varied or fresh as they were when they started, of course supper would not taste the same) – and she was happy to see the beginnings of a road at the entrance to the Scratchlands. That meant they were almost there.

For five years now, the kingdoms of Prospit and Derse had experienced an unparalleled and promising prosperity, and it had sprouted from what scholars in both kingdoms had dubbed the Cherubim Rebellion, when a Lord and Madame untouched by mortality were quite forcibly removed from power. But for those truly involved – for Jane and her family and heralds, and for too the royalty in Derse – it was so much more than that. It was an unmasking of their own lives, of grand conspiracy for nothing but a childish game, and with their very souls as the playing pieces. From what had been gleaned before and after, the group of twenty had been reborn again and again in a cycle of stagnation, sending both kingdoms into turmoil and war with each generation, never growing, never flourishing, until someone felt it within them to put it to an end, to light the spark of a new age and pass it around to let it burn brightly in them all. And that someone had been Jane.

But surely this needn’t be repeated, or too heavily dwelled on. The past was the past, and it had brought other things for those involved to carry into the future – like the road into the Scratchlands, for instance. There had been an immediate move to unite the two countries as allies after the Cherubim Rebellion, and the facilitation of travel and trade was only part of that. Now that their borders extended into the forest which for so long had been deemed untamable, the heads of state could better meet. Where greater a place to meet than the very epicenter of the Scratchlands? There, where once a dome of a mountain sat quiet and strange, now bloomed the beginnings of a grand castle, and around it the worker’s camp had grown into a bustling and happy town, filled with merchants and tradesmen and their families; parts of the forest had been cleared to grow crops and raise livestock, but not too much, never too much, out of respect for the wild things that still lurked within. Even scholars had flocked there recently, on the wings of rumors of archaeological findings – the earth save the mountain itself and its mysterious, guarded caves were theirs for exploration.

It is the day upon which the Prospitian Caravans pull into this little town that Jane’s tale begins again, under skies grey and calm and quiet. The townsfolk, both human and troll, came swarming out of their homes and places of work to see them roll down the street like a grand parade, and indeed, some began to throw confetti and flowers. From inside the caravan at the head of the line, Jane watched it all with a bit of bemused wonder, the tip of her nose nearly pressed against the window. Her eyes were wide and sparkling cyan behind gold spectacles, and her dark hair was still blissfully short, for she had not bothered to try and grow it out again; for a Princess her dress was shockingly plain, high collared and white with minimal embroidery, though her shawl was a heavy silk, blue and emblazoned with gold. When some children caught sight of her gaze and waved, she chuckled and waved back, delighting in their smiles.

“Really,” She said to herself, “They didn’t have to go through all this trouble. It’s just a little visit.”

There was a thump from the loft above, and Jane turned as two pairs of eyes peered down at her, one an ocean blue and the other an electric green. She smiled and leaned against the window to cross her arms.

“Well! I see you’ve both chosen to wake up. Impeccable timing, too.” She jerked her head towards the world outside. “We’ve made it.”

The green eyes rolled, and they disappeared, presumably so their owner could flop back on the large nest of shared blankets and pillows. “ _Finally_!”  Exclaimed Jade, and John pushed himself up to laugh at her, turning away from Jane. His bed head was absolutely spectacular.

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that long,” He said, and Jane heard the distinct sound of a blown raspberry.

“Yeah it was! It was the absolute longest trip I’ve ever had to take – and _completely_ pointless! That makes it dumb.” John snickered again and disappeared from sight, and as they spoke Jane bustled around the caravan, plucking clothes and things from various cabinets and drawers.

“Sssh, don’t let Karkat hear you, or he’ll pop a blood vessel.”

“He’s a butthead and he can go ahead and pop one, I don’t care. The rest of us are stuck twiddling our thumbs here while he and everybody else get to go do some weird troll thing! What are we supposed to do here, John?”

“I dunno, hang out I guess? Explore the town? Maybe even go into the forest? Something involving walking for sure. And being outside, and not in here – hey!”

One by one, Jane began tossing articles of clothing up into the loft, finding a measure of delight in the surprised cries of her brother and cousin. “You’d best look presentable before you even think of going outside,” She said, “It won’t just be the General having a conniption if you’re running around in your pajamas, you know!”

She was thanked with a pajama top tossed from above, and she sidestepped it with grace. “Okay _Mom_ ,” John said, “We’ll be ready by the time we have to get out, you don’t have to worry about a thing – oh, here, Jade, lemme help with that-”

“No, it’s okay, I got it-”

“Yeah, you got it alright, that’s why I’m going to help you-”

With a shake of her head, Jane turned away from the loft and headed towards the front of the caravan. There was a sliding panel there, and just through the wall she could hear boisterous laughter in the din of the crowds. When she opened it and leaned on its ledge, she could speak to the young man who had taken the reigns for today – her cousin Jake. There was confetti in his hair and all over his clothes, spots of pastel color on his emerald jacket. He looked over to her when she reached out to brush them off, eyes still bright with energy.

“Jane! Can you believe all this hullabaloo?” He asked, looking between her and the crowds. Upon noticing her face, their cheers roared even more, and he beamed. “Boy, what a welcome! I can’t say I’ve seen a more hopping scene than this!”

“It’s nice, yes,” She said, “But a bit much. You don’t suppose any of our friends in Derse put them up to it, do you?”

“What? No way, I won’t believe it. These folks’re sincere as a summer’s day! You can’t put a bloke up to being this rambunctious, let alone hoards of them.” He nudged the leading steeds with his reigns and they turned, headed towards an inclining street. There at the end was a gate with a wall at either side, and though she couldn’t see it yet, she knew that beyond it lay their destination. Even further beyond was something she could see – the rise of the domed mountain. Just a glimpse of it sent a shiver down her spine, but Jake whistled. “Go- _lly_! That’s it, too, isn’t it? The castle? I mean, it couldn’t be anything else – it’s by the funny mountain, so that must be it!” He braced his legs and leaned up on his heels, squinting his eyes. “Blimey, but you can’t see it though! I thought this castle was supposed to be a right ginormous venture!”

Jane sighed. “It’s not finished yet,” She said, “And it won’t be for quite some time _because_ it’s a ‘ginormus venture’.” Jake squinted for a moment longer before his eyes widened, and his mouth fell into a little ‘o’ shape, and he sat down again. “Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t realize that! Castles don’t just spring out of the ground!”

“I _know_ that,” Jake said, but there was a brilliant blush to his cheeks, as if he had truly believed that this one could. “I just – the blueprints and mockups and all that looked so…I don’t think there’s a word in my lexicon for it! And I want to see the real thing already.”

Ah, that’s what it was. He was just impatient. Jane couldn’t blame him, but then again, it was less the planned grandeur of the castle and more what it would become to her that made her excited. As the crowds petered out on both sides and the gate loomed ever closer, she rested her arms on the sill and her chin on her arms.

The gates opened for them, of course, and shut neatly behind them to reveal a ridge, where once the forest stopped and the mountain waited. Instead of empty space there was a simple walkway, and at its end stood a most unusual structure, surrounded by equipment and material and still-bustling workers. It was a large base with thirteen sides, one of which sporting a grand set of doors, heavy and huge enough to drive caravans through if necessary. At its top, men went to and fro to set the foundation of the second floor on an inner structure, and fitted thick glass panels around the outer rim. At the twelve other sides towers had been built, their tops reaching just above the heads of the workers putting the second floor in order. The entire castle had been fitted snugly against the slope of the mountain, and though even at its full height it would be dwarfed, to Jane it still looked impressive. It was a conquering of sorts, or a taking back of what once was theirs, but most importantly to her, it was her future.

When John and Jade came to the sill, Jane let them squeeze next to her, and the four watched in awe as the castle grew before them. They too were watched, by the workers who heard the clip and clop of steeds along the path and by a solitary figure before the door. Jane’s heart began to pound and her very core began to shake – until, that is, she got a better look at the figure. Somehow she doubted that the person she sought had taken to wearing lavender gowns recently.

Jane exited as the caravan rolled to a stop, and she had just enough time to drink in the sight of Rose before John and Jade barreled out behind her, both happy for freedom and ecstatic to see their friend. They circled her with hugs and exclamations and questions, and Jane felt Jake come to her side to watch, his smile as bemused as hers, until Rose finally quieted them to approach. She bowed.

“It is lovely to see you as always, Your Grace,” She said with an ease of poise. Jane curtsied back.

“And the same to you! How _does_ the Duchess of Lalonde fare these days, hmm?”

“It depends. I have been rather content as of late, but if you inquire about my dear sister-”

“I can ask after Roxy when I see her,” Jane said, and she held her arms out. “Now give me a hug.”

Rose folded her hands in front of her and leaned forward with a knowing smile. “Your Grace, hugs aren’t exactly the protocol for greeting royalty.” But she drew close anyway, and when Jane hugged her she returned the embrace warmly.

“Oh for Pete’s sake, Rose,” Jane said, “Exactly when have any of us done anything according to a protocol with each other?”

“Hey now,” Jake said, prompting the girls to pull apart, “What about everyone else? We can’t very well hug it out without the whole gang here, can we? Trolls and all, at that!”

“We can get Karkat,” John offered, and Jade groaned beside him.

“ _You_ can get Karkat. He’s a butthead, remember? I’ll get everyone else.”

“I don’t think you’ll need to fetch him or any of the others,” Rose said, and she pointed to where a second caravan had pulled to a stop. It was much bigger than the one Jane and the others had arrived in, and it had to be, to transport six trolls. She stepped towards it, and Jane could see a faint flush on her cheeks and neck. “I could do that for you easily. I’m here to welcome you, after all, and you have been welcomed, haven’t you?”

“Oh, yes, quite thoroughly,” Jane said.

“If you really insist on it, I could go wrangle the other trolls,” Jake said, “Good gravy, it’d be swell to see those old chums again-”

“They’re in the main hall,” Rose said. She smoothed out her skirt with particular fervor. “Straight through the doors, you can’t miss them.”

“I could go get Roxy if you want-” John offered, and he jabbed a thumb at Jade. “And she could go get Dave!”

“Who said I wanted to get Dave-”

“My sister is in the basement, there is a door in between the first and second towers. Please, keep her away from the winery.” Now she fixed her hair, running her fingers through her short locks to shape them just so. “And our esteemed Knight is up on the roof overseeing construction, if you take the stairs in the main hall you’ll be there in no time.”

The others left immediately, Jade being led by her brother and cousin, and though Jane could see her own trolls begin to spill out of their caravan, she did not budge. After a moment, Rose looked at her over her shoulder.

“Well, Jane? Must I divulge his whereabouts to you?”

Something warm buoyed in Jane’s chest, and she stood a little straighter. “A hint would be nice, if a Seer is allowed to give hints.”

“I don’t need to be a Seer to know where he is,” Rose said, but there was a glimpse of slyness to her smile as she turned away. “Enter the castle and take the first door on the left. That’s all I’ll say.”

She could have just thanked Rose, but Jane wanted to do something more. The Duchess’s fiddling was endearing, if a bit out of place. But they were both quite nervous for very similar reasons, and Jane found herself drawing near and reaching out to fix a chain around Rose’s neck, so her pendant of stone and silvery octopus lay evenly. “You look fine,” Jane said, “She’ll think you’re lovely no matter what.” And with that she left, a bit triumphant with the fleeting image of Rose’s cheeks turning quite red. She’d be snipped at for it later, surely, for none of Derse’s royalty seemed to like to be perceived as transparent, but it was completely and utterly worth it.

Whether the door was manned on the inside or it moved from some other means, it opened for Jane without a creek, and though she caught a glance of grey and horns and could parse each voice in the chipper, welcoming din, she did not linger in the entrance lest she be whisked away. There would be plenty of time to take in the hall later, when they were all seated and discussing the matters at hand.

The first door on the left was small enough for Jane to open on her own, and when she did, her jaw dropped at what it concealed. Before her was a long, curved corridor, with stone walls on either side, and instead of a proper floor there was a carpet of soft, young grass. The roof above her head was slanted glass, and there were windows on the wall around the main hall, high up enough to let in light and keep her from sight. Every once in a while on the outside wall, she would spot another door, each marked with the symbol of a Troll Lord or Lady of Prospit or Derse. She closed the door behind her and marveled for a moment, wondering what sort of things they would be able to grow in this funny place, how vines and trees and flowers would send their roots into the very stone of the castle…and then, lifting the hem of her dress, Jane began to walk down the corridor.

She noticed him rather quickly, though he was still a ways away, and Jane could pause again to stare. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, and the collar of his orange waistcoat had been popped, a quirk he had taken to as of late. The old triangle spectacles were perched on the bridge of his nose, and his focus was on the wall before him, where an empty picture frame had been hung in the junction of a corner.

What came of keeping quiet, or pretending that the ache in her heart wasn’t both painful and beautiful? Jane dropped her skirts and ran “Dirk!”

He turned, and there was a moment of a flicker in his body language, sharp attention melting into something soft. When she came forward his arms opened to meet her, and when they embraced, Dirk and Jane stumbled, but they did not fall.

“Jane,” He said, breathless with disbelief, and she could feel his muscles relax under her touch. “When did you get here and why didn’t anyone tell me when it happened?”

She chuckled and squeezed him tight. “I just arrived! So, I suppose it’d be me telling you, wouldn’t it? Or I could pop back outside and have someone announce me if you’d like?”

“For once, I’ll ignore how stupidly ironic it would be to do that in favor of saying fuck no instead. So, yeah. Fuck no.” And without another word, Dirk picked Jane up at the waist and spun her around, the pair’s laughter reverberating through the corridor.

Jane kept her arms loose around Dirk’s neck when he set her back down, ready to hold him close at a moment’s notice. His hands still rested on her hips. “Gosh,” She said, her voice still breathy with laughter, “I’ve missed you something fierce. That’s not silly, is it?”

He leaned forward to brush their noses. “Nah, not silly at all. I missed you too.”

They stood together like that, drinking in each other’s presence and warmth, until a bright light shined in through the glass above, the sun reaching down to them through the clouds. Jane found herself squinting, and Dirk brought her against the inner wall, into the little shade it offered, and they sat facing the empty frame. It ignited her curiosity. “So what would be the story about this, hm?”

“There’s no story about it,” Dirk said, “It’s a frame. I brought it from Derse.”

“There’s nothing in it, and you were looking at it like it was the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen.”

“Well it could be. I thought it looked good here, and I figured we could put something in it. Like, maybe before the trolls run off to do their thing, we could all sit for a sketch and color test.”

“But just one painting? It’ll look so odd. And will it last with all the plants we plan to grow in here?”

“See, I thought of that,” Dirk said, tapping his temple, “We could have some more done up, or bring some from our palaces, and I’m pretty sure we could put some protective measures into place. Put some glass in front of the picture, keep some restoration guys on standby. Whatever it is we’re doing here, there’s gonna be no denying that it’ll be awesome. Trust me.”

Jane tilted her head a bit, letting Dirk’s words roll about in her mind. “I still don’t understand why you’d be standing around just looking at nothing, though. What’s there worth your time?”

But all Dirk offered her was a little smile and a shake of the head, and Jane wondered if there was something more to the frame and its bare space – and why Dirk kept it secret. It would be something worth investigating before they left, that was for sure, and she nestled the little mystery in a corner of her mind for later, when there wouldn’t be a soul around to distract her.

“Oh, fine,” Jane said with a smile of her own, “I suppose I’ll never know. What a shame it is, the King of Derse keeping things from me! I thought we had an alliance.”

He snorted. “You’re peeved I won’t tell you, huh?”

“Now I never said that, Your Majesty, please don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You must be if you’re pulling out the formalities.”

“Goodness! You’re so presumptuous today.” With that Jane rose, shaking out her dress and shawl. “I’ll have you know that I just came to fetch you. Jake wants everyone together for one big welcoming hug.”

“Does he now?” Dirk asked, and he got to his feet himself. “Might as well get this shindig started afterwards, if we’re all together. Get all the bullshit out of the way.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and started off, going down the bit of corridor that Jane had not traversed. “Dave’s got a bet going for how long Karkat is going to talk to everyone about the situation. You want in? I’ve got money on a half hour.”

“Oh, that’s mean,” Jane said, and she followed after him. “He’s shaved it down about five minutes at my insistent request.”

“That doesn’t mean he’ll do it.”

“He’ll do it if he knows what’s good for him.” She caught up to Dirk just as another door came into view, without symbol, and she slipped an arm around his. “But you know, I was wondering about something the whole trip here? Since there’s going to be a lot of talk while we’re here, and…well, my coronation is a little over a month away, and I know we said we would wait…” Jane felt Dirk’s eyes upon her, but she could not meet them, afraid of what she might discern. “But they’re our family, Dirk, and figureheads besides. They should know what we plan to do, if they haven’t taken a crack at guessing already. It affects them just as much as us.”

Dirk tensed, if but briefly. He let a long breath out through his nose, and his gait became slow and measured. Jane pulled him closer and wound her arm around his tighter, in an effort to comfort. “I know it does,” He said, “And I’ve thought about it a lot too. I guess…yeah, it would be a dick move to wait until your party, wouldn’t it?” He placed a hand on the doorknob when they reached it. “But it also seems like a dick move to announce it today. How about we let ‘em know when everything’s taken care of here? Give people some time to cool off, and then we can nail down some specifics on the road.”

There was a warm, heavy feeling in Jane’s chest. “But that’s such a long time!”

“It’s like a week.” He turned the knob, and it clicked. “We’ve kept our engagement secret all winter, Jane. A week more is like a piece of cake.”

It was long to her, Jane thought as they entered the main hall. Something like this, the union of two old enemies as friends, and to solidify the bond they had with rings and vows, to make it public and known, it seemed too big for her to hold inside. There were nights when she couldn’t sleep, when it was too unbelievable to her, and if she could just say it aloud for someone else to hear then it would be made real forevermore. But there was something sound in Dirk’s words – this journey, this meeting, it was already full of so much. It was better to reveal their plans when there was less stress, and when the others would be more open to the news.

Jane’s thoughts were brought to a screeching halt at the sound of several cries, and she looked ahead to the room before her. It was a throne room much like that in the Palace of Prospit, large and high ceilinged, with a staircase going up around the wall to what would be the second story. There were differences, though – the walls were a solemn grey, and there was no window from which to watch the sunset behind its pair of imposing thrones. There were not yet decorations or adornments, and in the center of the room was an imposing table of deep red wood, around which twenty chairs had been placed in anticipation of the two kingdoms’ arrival. Around the table, most with smiles and some with feigned disinterest, were seated the Dukes and Duchesses, the Lords and Ladies of both Prospit and Derse – at least, they were before. Now they surged forward, or were dragged along, in a mass of human and troll, and there were a great many arms and voices, making Dirk and Jane the center of the warmest and most glorious group hug in all of paradox space. None had been better, and no hug would ever surpass it.

This, of course, could not be appreciated by all people. Soon enough there was a disgruntled ripple and jostling, and a figure popped out on the outskirts of the embrace with an exasperated groan. Though Jane could not see him, she knew the voice very well, and was only confirmed when he began to speak.

“Alright you bilesnorting chuckleheads,” Said General Karkat Vantas, “Break it up, this is a complete waste of my time.” For someone still shorter than Jane herself, he had a lot of gumption to back himself up, and he began to pry the group apart with little regard for the squawks of protest from his fellows. Jane saw him in time, clad in grey and white, his bright eyes the only bit of stubborn red he tolerated on his person. His nostrils flared when he caught her staring. “Took you look enough Crocker, what the hell kept you?”

Dirk leaned over and nudged her shoulder with his. “We had three rounds of wild and wanton sex on the back of a majestic steed while howling like rabid baboons,” He drawled, and Jane shoved his shoulder back while Karkat rolled his eyes.

“ _Dirk_!”

“Yeah, okay, real classy Strider,” Karkat said, and he pulled the monarchs apart. His hands were surprisingly gentle. “Keep in mind that we’ve got a lot to go over and the more time you spend not getting it done, the less time we’ll have to get things right, and this shit? Kind of important. We need all the time we can get.”

“Hey, yo, if it’s time you need-”

“Save your human sass, Dave, it’s an even bigger waste of my time,” Karkat said, and he ploughed on through the group until it finally broke apart, and one by one the seats around the great round table filled up, Prospit on one side and Derse on the other. Jane could look each and every person there in the eye, and it brought a little smile to her face.

From her right on, there was John and Jake in an animated conversation, while Jade came next, arms crossed on the table and head resting upon them. Next to her was an empty seat for General Vantas, which he pointedly ignored as he herded the others. Next to that was Lady Terezi Pyrope, her latest pair of spectacles adorned with red lenses and perched upon her nose. They did nothing to hide what had become of her eyes – they were in fact enhanced by the red, blind and yet piercing to the core, intimidation without need for perception. Every once in a while she would lean over to speak to the next person, Lord Tavros Nitram, who smiled awkwardly and tried not to shake his head too hard to keep his impressive horns from knocking anyone in the face. He seemed quite comfortable with the troll on his other side, for Lord Gamzee Makara would slide his chin on Tavros’s shoulder just so, their horns a hair’s breadth apart. He whistled something low and odd that made Terezi’s nose crinkle. After him came Lady Vriska Serket, watching them with an open and concerning distaste and drumming the fingers of her prosthetic arm on the table. The last of the Prospit line was Lady Kanaya Maryam, whose eyes were for someone else across the way, and she sat with her back straight and hands folded, the picture of poise and restraint, were it not for the faint iridescence of her skin. Though, Jane thought, that might be more to enhance her dress, to make the rich emerald silk seem much darker and more dramatic than it was.

When Derse began Jane found her eyes meeting deep maroon and a bright grin, and she returned it in equal measure; Lady Aradia Megido was, after all, still one of her dear friends. She then nudged Lord Sollux Captor, who had taken a similar slouch as Jade, bicolored spectacles perched on his head and eyes firmly shut. The next seat was empty, but only because Lady Nepeta Leijon had not fancied sitting in it, choosing instead to make herself comfortable on Lord Equius Zahhak’s lap. He sat in eerie stillness, as if nothing were out of the ordinary, and any odd look turned his way sent his companion into a tizzy of giggles. These, of course, came mostly from the troll next to them, Lord Eridan Ampora, in between his incessant clothes fiddling and muttered complaints. Lady Feferi Pexies would smack him lightly whenever she caught wind of one, returning to a serene smile when he pressed his mouth shut and looked at her with eyes that were in no way sincerely sorry, or he would stop complaining all together. Then came the humans again: the Duchesses Lalonde, Roxy already a little pink around the cheeks and Rose meeting Kanaya’s gaze; Prince Dave Strider with his feet kicked up on the table, and then, lastly and on Jane’s left, Dirk sat in quiet contemplation.

The seat next to Jade was still empty when all others were seated, and Jane tutted when Karkat finally approached. “Won’t you sit for a moment, General?” She asked. He scoffed.

“My ass is so numb from sitting that if I sit before the day is out I think I’ll have permanent nerve damage,” Karkat said, “So no, I will not.” When he paused by his chair he gave it a dirty look, as if it insulted him with its presence, and after a moment he pulled it away from the table with a loud, echoing scrape that made everyone flinch. With a space clear, Karkat planted his hands firmly on the table. “Now, could we please get down to some actual business and not namby-pamby niceties?”

Terezi raised her hand. “Karkat, shouldn’t we do a roll call first?”

“Wh – no, that’s stupid, we’re already here and-”

“Well you could at least open with the statement of allegiance,” She said, a sharp grin creeping onto her face. Karkat leaned away from her. “Come on! We all worked so hard to make it sound just right. Might as well use it while the block’s still got that new diplomatic smell!”

“Diplomacy doesn’t even have a smell,” Dave added, his own hand going up, and Karkat brought a hand to his forehead.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll say it. And don’t you _start_ , Strider, you haven’t spent a month in confined quarters with the blind girl reading legal jargon by _tongue_.” He stood straight again and cleared his throat, and already Jane could see the others fidgeting in their seats, surely wishing he was finished. “As allies, and as Prospit and Derse, we’ve come together to…you know, do things-”

“General Vantas, I do remember penning some particularly lovely diction-”

He held a hand up. “Oh my God, Lalonde, please, this shit isn’t interesting to any nooksniffer with half a brain, let me paraphrase.” And Karkat cleared his throat again, a little louder this time, ignoring Rose’s icy glare. “Now. As allies with a convoluted, intertwined history that’s more complicated than launching an acrobatic pirouette off the handle into a parkour routine involving several city blocks, there are terms and conditions that keep us on the same page as the kingdoms who haven’t had mysterious magical meddling involved in their politics. Most of that is a bunch of tiptoeing around obvious favoritism involving any possible warfare team ups and trade agreements, but the main thing we all actually had a unanimous vote of agreement on-”

“Ooh, ooh!” Roxy raised her hand and waved it about. “Wait a sec! Exactly how many city blocks is the parkour thingie?” She grinned when Karkat gave her the blankest stare anyone in the room had ever seen.

“What the fuck do you need to know that for?”

“To know _exactly_ how convoluted we are!” She proclaimed.

“I, too, would like to know the specifics-”

“Zahhak, don’t fucking even!” Karkat said, and he pounded the table. “This isn’t an open fucking forum for the flightiest thoughts each of you can manage to drub up in your pans and then vomit all over the table! Let me say my goddamn piece, or I swear, nobody is going to make it out of this room for days, I will filibuster this-”

He launched into a tirade, punctuated with jabbing pointing and sweeping gestures, and Jane heard the chair beside her creek as Dirk leaned close. “Has he been talking much during the trip?”

“No, not much at all,” Jane whispered, and Dirk raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“That’s what I thought.” He leaned forward and rapped on the table, catching Karkat’s attention. “Okay, General? Not that your grievance isn’t sound, because we could do without the chorus, and you’re fairly entertaining when you’re all riled up, I’m not gonna lie, but, you know. Move on. We should do that.”

The Troll narrowed his eyes at the King of Derse, but he took a deep breath, and his body relaxed. He cleared his throat for a third time, and Jane hoped the others would keep their mouths shut, for this was the longest and loudest ‘Ahem’ yet, and Karkat might strain himself if he tried to top it. They seemed to understand that, for no one dared to make a peep.

“Alright, then. Well.” Karkat coughed. “The main crux of our limitation falls within the Esoteric Arts. It’s weird magic bullshit passed down from what I guess you’d call our ancestors, and we’ve decided that, if it puts us in a position where we would be way ahead of people on the outside, we wouldn’t use them. They’re like cheating, and we’re not playing anybody’s games.” There was a ripple through the group, a solemn nod. “The most obvious of these is the use of the power of Life for resurrection. No one can come back from the dead – it’s why this castle’s been built where it is. You’ve all seen that chamber in the mountain at some point or another. You’ve all felt what it’s like in there, you don’t even need to be told what’s gone on in that place to feel it and I don’t need to say why we need to guard it. We can’t let it happen anymore.”

“Agreed,” The group mumbled. Each voice was lost in the sound of its others, a moment of unity. To anyone outside the little world they had done so much to open, it would be eerie, but it was comforting to Jane at least. They had sworn to live their lives to the end together, and not to double back, and in that they would never be alone.

Karkat was silent for a moment, the gravity of the kingdoms’ promise rolling over him, before he hummed and rubbed the back of his neck. “But that’s the short of it. We’re on the straight and narrow, and that’s part of why we’re here now.”

“Only took you ten minutes to get to the point,” Dave said, and he held up his hands when Karkat shot him a glare. “What? I’m just keeping time, dude, don’t flip out again. I don’t mean a damn thing by it.”

The General took a long, hard breath and closed his eyes, perhaps counted backwards to some number in his head, before he let himself continue. “As fucked up as it’s been for generations, both Prospit and Derse are used to having six Lords and Ladies apiece, each with a specific position to help run these barkbeast and hoofbeast shows. As fate would have it, we’re all also trolls, which, as many foreign dignitaries have made me very aware of, do not ‘dare to terrorize the people’ beyond our borders.” He then grinned, which was odd to see on his face, but there must have been some measure of pride in him that made the gesture worthy. “Obviously, they’re missing out.”

The company did not stir or chuckle, and Karkat’s shoulders drooped along with his grin.

“…Point is,” He said, “We’re fucking awesome, and because we’re changing how things have been done, we’re going to do something no royal cohort has ever done before – _yes_ , Ampora, I’ve checked the historical archives,” He added when Eridan’s hand went up, “And I haven’t found a single record of any of our past selves making the pilgrimage to donate to the genetic slurry for the Mother Grub. Besides, don’t you think we’d have a line of little twerps challenging us for our positions if they did?”

Karkat paused this time, as if expecting someone to speak up, and his shoulders relaxed when Tavros raised his hand instead of just butting in. He nodded to the other troll, whose eyes widened. “Oh! Uh, thanks Karkat.” He lowered his hand and gave a faltering smile. “Anyway, I was just thinking, since this is, you know, a slurry we’re giving to, and that all trolls give to. Don’t you think that, um, it’s possible that, before records were kept, our ancestors gave to it at some point? So, that would mean, our genes were still mixed in with everyone else’s? And, if there were any grubs that came out, Calliope or Caliborn would, um…cull them?”

The room was quiet. Slowly, Jade lifter her head to look Tavros in the eye. “That’s really dark, Tavros, holy cow.”

“It was just a thought!” Tavros said, hands up in defense.

Karkat sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Sadly, knowing all the stuff they’ve done, that could be a possibility. But we may never know for sure, and if we dwell on it, we’ll just drive ourselves shithive maggots. Let’s save the fucked up stuff for when we’re all drunk and miserable, okay? Which I’m sure will be sometime after this whole mess is over.” He reached into the inside of his coat and pulled out a bundle of cards to deal one to each of the trolls at the table. “I wrote to the attendants of the Mother Grub asking how all this is supposed to go down, and after eloquently insulting everything from our ineptitude to my handwriting, they said each of us had to fill these out with our quadrants and show up to a mountain north from here by tomorrow night. Pretty much every troll between nine and ten sweeps of age is going to be there, so nobody has time to listen to how you first met your quadrantmates and how you knew your relationship was pure serendipity from the moment your auricular sponge clots first absorbed the hideous shrieking from their squawk blister. This card helps the attendants shuffle the right people together, makes their job easier, blah blah blah, they can shove the fucks I don’t give up their seedflaps. So for the sake of all that is sacred, you’ll fill out that card right now, and accurately, with the hatchsymbols of your quadrantmates – _what_ , Kanaya, what do you want?”

Kanaya cleared her own throat and stood, holding the card out towards him. “I’m afraid I cannot fill out the card,” She said. “Rose does not have a hatchsymbol.”

“Rose isn’t a troll,” He said, sure to enunciate his words. She glared at him.

“So you are telling me to lie?”

“It’s not a matter of lying, it’s just so we look normal and possibly have descendants for when those of us not gifted with the luck of highblood longevity find ourselves rotting where we stand.” Karkat’s words were clipped, as if he had explained this many a time. “I’m sure there are a couple of us here who wouldn’t mind filling in as a matesprit for you if they didn’t have one.”

The glow of Kanaya’s skin dimmed, and Rose’s brows knitted together when she noticed. “Don’t I get a say in who is and isn’t engaging in such a stressful activity with my girlfriend?” She asked. Karkat threw his hands in the air.

“Of course not, because you’re not a fucking troll!”

There was another hand in the air. “Excuse me, Karcrab?”

“I would only assume that my feelings might be taken into account-”

“You don’t have to aim in the middle of heated foreplay, okay, this is none of your concern-”

“Karcrab! Hey, yoohoo! Over here!” The hand waved harder, and Feferi nearly jumped about in her seat. “I think there’s something you should know!”

“W-Want I should get him for you, Fef?” Eridan asked under his breath. She shook her head.

“No, I think he’ll come around – a _hem_!” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Kaaaarcraaaab!!!”

Karkat turned to Feferi, Rose in mid-rant, and said, “ _What_.”

“Oh!” Feferi shrugged and smiled. “It’s just, you said some trolls didn’t have their quadrants all in a row. Were you just talking about Prospit, or did you mean Derse too?” She glanced down the table at her fellows. “Because, truthfully? I think Sollux is the only one of us who’s had smooth sailing when it comes to that. I don’t have a kismesis.”

“And I…don’t hawe a matesprit,” Eridan added, and he glared at Sollux’s snide grin.

“I don’t have efur!” Exclaimed Nepeta, “And neither does Equius.” The troll whose lap she sat on turned a lovely shade of blue, but he did not deny her claims. Karkat, on the other hand, was beginning to pale.

 “We’ve tried going out into different parts of the kingdom to fill our quadrants,” Aradia said “But it was all the same; nobody seemed to click with anybody else. Isn’t that important when you’re trying to fill a quadrant? Whether or not you can form a strong bond?”

For a single moment, there was silence – blissful, beautiful silence. All was still and calm, save for the General’s face, which flickered between a familiar anger and a foreign sort of blankness that came to those who had never been rightly shocked before. The moment passed when Karkat reached back and pulled his chair close, the screech against the floor making everyone jump. He plunked himself down in that seat and stared dumbfounded at his lap, and the others stared dumbfounded at him.

“Oh crap, he’s sitting,” John said, “I think you guys broke him.” From down the table, Vriska sighed and flipped her hair.

“Karkaaaaaaaat, reeeeeeeeally, who caaaaaaaares?” She said, flicking her card away, “This is totally not something we need to waste our time with. We’ll just pull over some schlubs and fill in our cards that way, it’s siiiiiiiimple!” His shoulders shuddered at her words, and Gamzee, his easy grin melting away, lifted his head from Tavros’s shoulder.

“You okay, Karbro?”

As the General took a deep breath, Jane glanced about the table, meeting the eyes of the other humans in concern. The trolls were riveted on Karkat, even Sollux had lifted his head to watch.

“‘Okay’,” Karkat said softly, “You ask if I’m ‘okay’…”

Gamzee’s smile returned. “Yeah! ‘Cause you’re not lookin’ too good, and you’re always up and checkin’ in on me when I’m down, so-”

“Gamzee,” Karkat said, and his words caught on a hiccup of a laugh, one of a fellow who could be described as a lot of things, but ‘okay’ was most certainly not one of them. He looked up. “Gamzee, I’m – we’re fucked. You don’t have a clue, do you?” His voice rose as he continued. “We are all so thoroughly fucked, procrastination has gone through three packs of cigarettes just from brutally fondling our collective shame globes. We, as examples of strength and symbols of sovereignty, as trolls who have to make an example for others to follow, have had…at least a _sweep_ to get this together. An entire sweep! Most romcoms take place over the course of a week at least, so none of us have _any_ excuse to have such piss poor, shameful states of our quadrants!!” He threw his hands up in the air, voice at its zenith. “I thought there would only be a couple of us brainless, vile assfairies with missing spaces, and yeah, maybe a quick hookup would be okay for that, we could talk it out and get it all settled. But you’re all telling me that out of twelve fucking trolls, only one of them can get their festering pile of shit together in his quadrants – and it’s _this_ asshole??” He gestured to Sollux with both hands with particular zeal, as if presenting him with all honors to the group, and the other troll’s eyes narrowed.

“Hey, KK?” Sollux said, lowering his spectacles, “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck _you_ ,” And Sollux sat as straight as he could, blue and red psionics cracking about his horns. “You don’t have any room to talk, okay? Obviouthly _you_ don’t have everything together either, if I’m the only one. Don’t be jealouth of my thwag.”

“I AM NOT JEALOUS OF YOUR ‘THWAG’!!!” Karkat’s cheeks had turned a lovely shade of red, and he slammed his hands down on the table. “We just – we don’t have time to play musical quadrants! But you know what? Fuck it! We’re going to have to, and we’ll be up through the _night_ until everyone is taken care of! Because as General of an entire God-fucking-damned army, obviously that makes me the only one qualified to be leader of this festering dingle rumpus! And I’ll stick something long and pointy and on _fire_ down my protein chute before I have to deal with this on the road, or worse, at the caverns themselves!!!”

The trolls groaned, many of them rubbing their temples in anticipation of a headache, but the humans shared worried glances. Could they really survive more of this? Even Rose seemed drained, her gaze sliding to Kanaya, who had frowned with brows furrowed at the card in her hands. Jane cleared her throat as Karkat opened his mouth again, and she did not falter at the glare he sent her way. “Oh, stop it, I’m not trying to rile you,” She said, “I was just wondering if it was really necessary for those of us not making the pilgrimage to stay. We’d just get in your way, after all.”

 “You guys don’t really need us anyway,” Dirk added, “What would we even do? Tell you if we thought your matches were favorable or not? Humans regularly fuck up having one type of romance, four in our hands would be the worst mistake ever conceived. This is a troll thing, and you’re trolls. You’ve got our support in it, but at the end of the day, you all have more of a say than we do, right General?’

The monarchs’ words made Karkat pause to consider them, anger still pent up in the way his shoulders had stiffened. He finally nodded to them once. “…I guess you guys can go, yeah. I’ve got more than enough of the peanut gallery here already. Go…make diplomacy or something, I’ll fill you in later.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when there was a cacophony of scraping chairs, and the humans made a beeline for the doors, some looking back with pity at the trolls left behind. Dirk sidled up to Jane immediately, and kept his voice hushed. “Any idea how long they’ll be at it?”

“Until supper at least, I’m sure.” The closer they got to the doors, the further their little group began to split; John had weaseled his way between the Lalondes, chatting away while Roxy applauded his corny jokes and Rose continued to glare back at Karkat; Dave had wound an arm around both Jade and Jakes’ shoulders, pulling them close for his whispered, rambling commentary. “I do think Karkat’s gone a little stir crazy, but still, I had no idea there was so much involved in this whole grub business!”

“Well, hold on a second there. I don’t think he’s wrong to be freaked out.” When the others filed through the door to the grass corridor, Dirk lingered, and Jane with him. The trolls were a thriving mass, horns twisting this way and that, and sometimes a card or two would appear, thrown above their heads in frustration, but Karkat was everywhere, snatching the cards out of the air and on the edge of breathlessness. “Aradia said something about them that we should probably keep in mind: that a quadrant is supposed to have a strong bond. What if the bonds between trolls are necessary for their weird gene slime to make a grub at all? What if he’s just freaked out that there won’t be anybody to take their places in the future?”

“But how could the slime know there’s a strong bond?” Jane asked, and Dirk shrugged.

“Hell if I know. I’m hypothesizing. We could ask to know for sure some other time, though.” There was a groaning uproar from the table, and the corner of Dirk’s mouth twitched. “I think they’ve got some shit to sort out.”

Jane laughed softly, every ‘hoo’ making her chest feel warm, and she tugged him away from the corridor in favor of the grand entrance. “Too true. I think I’d like to make sure the caravans are prepared for their departure, though. Get them stocked, clean them out, put a change of sheets on. Make a little diplomacy, I suppose.”

“And you’re gonna do that by yourself? A princess with a whole town at her beck and call?”

She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. “Well, if you’d like to help, Dirk, I wouldn’t say no.”

Dirk paused, and with hesitance and care, he lifted his spectacles to look at her with bare eyes. It was a rare moment of bright, brilliant orange, and it was only for her, revealed perhaps out of quiet awe.

“You know,” He said, “I should’ve learned by now, but after all these years you are still so full of surprises.”

Jane smiled, a blush pinkening her cheeks. “Is that a compliment?”

“Of the highest order.” He dropped his spectacles, and the door opened before them. “And yeah, I’ll help you out. Say the word, Jane, and I’d give you the world. Wish it and I stay my hand.”

She found Dirk’s hand and took it in her own. “And for you, I’d do the same.”


	2. Chart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The end contains a bit of graphic imagery that will leak into the next chapter. It's generally a body horror thing I think? If this kind of vomiting is body horror? I dunno, don't say I didn't warn you.

The trolls debated long into the night, and they did not stop for supper; when Jane went to call them they were still in heated discussion, and she bade those in town who had offered their services for their stay to please, if they could, bring up a meal for the Lords and Ladies, surely they had to be famished! And they did so happily, knowing very well that the Princess most likely would have done it herself, were she not so worn from the caravans. She and Dirk had driven the servants away to put them right themselves, and cleaning up after twelve was no easy feat. But it was done – every speck of the caravans gleamed, every corner smelled like a freshly squeezed lemon, and the both of them were completely and utterly wiped from the effort.

When supper finished in the cool, cozy cellar of the castle, no one begrudged either Jane or Dirk for heading back up to rest. They went to the caravan Jane had arrived in and lay in the loft, her head on Dirk’s shoulder in the nest of blankets while night fell upon the little town, and the stars parted the black of night to glimmer in the sky.

Jane supposed, sometimes, that their affections were perhaps obvious to their kingdoms, or to their loved ones at least. They had written each other whole journals of letters, about upkeep of the land and rainy days and the thoughts that came to rest in their minds in the grey of dawn. When the kingdoms held meetings or events that demanded their presence, they lingered in each others’ company long after it was necessary to. They had been caught sparring and climbing trees, having snowball fights, things that were a bit off and a bit childish, full of laughter and smiles no matter how sharp their tongues were. But if anyone suspected, they could not be sure, for it was only in the places where no one else would follow did they ever draw close, where a hand would fall where it would and rest there, its presence enough for the both of them.

She and Dirk had dozed off after a time, the hours whittling away with no word, and it was only when the caravan door opened from below that they started awake. Or, more accurately, it was Dirk who started, sitting up and blinking blearily in the darkness, while Jane shifted, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with a little frown.

“Whassat?” She asked in a yawn, “Whas’ goin’ on-”

Dirk swatted her shoulder, and when she looked to glare at him, a finger was pressed to his lips. Slowly, he turned to the edge of the loft and leaned over the edge, and after a moment his shoulders relaxed and he rocked back. “So how late is it that knocking is no longer common courtesy?” He asked, and when the ladder to the loft creaked, Jane finally sat up.

“Don’t tell me I was interrupting something,” Said a voice – Karkat’s, her mind supplied, much less gruff than it should be. A shadow pulled itself into the loft, and Jane turned to the wall to fumble for the candles and matches she knew to be there. “I will just about prostrate myself with my bare ass up and out to be battered by the elements if I just walked in on something.” When she found a match Jane struck it, and it flared to reveal Karkat’s face. He was pale, and dark bags had made their home under his eyes. “And it’s about three in the morning.”

Jane finally found a candle and lit it, fitting it snugly in a holder, and though the light it cast was dim, it served much better than the darkness. “Please knock next time, General. We were only asleep.”

“Gee, I sure do wish I could say the same,” Karkat said. He crawled forward and wormed his way between Dirk and Jane, taking a moment to sink into the nest of blankets and sigh. Dirk looked to her over the General’s head and raised his eyebrows, but all she could offer him was a shrug. “Oh, wow, you lucky bastards. Oh this is comfortable. I hate the both of you so much right now.”

“Is there something you needed, Karkat?” Jane asked, and she ignored how his nose crinkled at the sound of his name. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it – he just preferred his title. But it was still dark out and Jane knew they all had to be tired. “Are you finished with the sorting?”

Dirk groaned. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me he’s here to tell us about it. I thought you were kidding when you said you’d fill us in. This can’t wait?”

“No, it can’t,” Karkat said, gritting his teeth, “We’re leaving at the break of dawn.”

“I highly doubt we’ll remember much of it all, if you go into detail,” Jane said.

“I left you a diagram.”

The Princess and King exchanged glances.

“Then do you really have to-”

“Yes.”

“But we could just-”

“Just nothing, I didn’t suffer through the idiocy of ten pan-fried nub suckers and Sollux’s grossly lisping innuendo to have hot gossip like this completely ignored. You’re fucking monarchs here, you’ve got to know what’s going on between your subordinates when it could be seen as potentially concerning to an entire species that you happen to be in charge of!”

There was something odd in what he said that stirred Jane’s mind, and she suddenly felt quite alert. “Hold on a second. Concerning? What about the sorting was concerning?”

Karkat threw his hands up in defeat. “Oh, now do I have your attention?” He asked. Dirk reached over and pushed his hands down.

“You do,” He said. “Don’t make it a thing. I’ll be much less implied to give you my attention if you make it a thing this late at night.”

The General sniffed, dismissive with his lowered eyelids. He made a show of getting comfortable again, shifting and wiggling until his head was propped up on pillows and blankets, and Dirk and Jane sat and waited patiently. He cleared his throat.

“We had some…kingdom crossing with the assigned pairs,” Karkat said, “And we’re all on good enough terms for that to be generally okay with your humans, but we don’t know how the trolls in the populations are going to react. There’s been some fault lines in them lately, a lot of talk in seedy places and a _lot_ of anti-human sentiment in troll arts lately.”

Dirk’s brow furrowed. “Anti-human sentiment? The fuck’re they anti-human for?”

“You mean you haven’t noticed anything?” Jane asked. Dirk shook his head.

“Of course not.” He paused. “And you have?”

She nodded sheepishly. “Well, I’ve noticed it in the art part…we’ve been doing public appearances at theaters and galleries across Prospit. Jade can bring us anywhere with a twitch of her nose, and I figured, if I’m going to be Queen, I should know my people, and my people should know me. The last few troll plays we went to were…odd.”

Karkat gave her a sad, sad look. “Jane, they completely rewrote Troll The King and I. They took a shaky alliance that bloomed into a tragic cross-species Moirallegiance between Anna and the Emerald Emperor into a one-sided caliginous disaster that ended in Anna’s brutally maimed body being sacrificed to bring the Emperor back from the dead.” He started gesturing again, hands flipping this way and that without a care. “I mean – yeah, the original was always grossly historically inaccurate, but it’s like they took the fucking script and decided to piss all over it with their sociopolitical ragewank like uncultured oinkbeasts with no regard for how beloved the original production has been!”

Dirk whistled. “Wow. Okay. So your gluteus maximus is plenty chafed over this, I get that. But what does it have to do with who you guys smooch?”

“It’s not obvious?” The General asked.

“Not really,” Jane said, though she reached out to pat Karkat on the shoulder. Thank goodness Dirk said something; if he hadn’t, the troll could have gone on for hours about that play. She knew from experience. “Why don’t you give us the short of it?”

“The short of it _should_ be obvious,” He said, shrugging off her touch, “Most trolls don’t want the kingdoms this close. You know all those outsiders you’ve been trading with, trying to make nice towards?” Karkat jabbed a thumb at his chest. “They think we’re monsters, and they don’t hide how they feel. Trolls are getting pissed off, talking about splitting from humans entirely and claiming space for a new kingdom. They don’t care if you’ve given a squeakbeast’s pus-festered ass about them, they’re fed up, and they want nothing to do with Prospit or Derse if it means you guys are strengthening your bond in any perceived way.” With a sigh, Karkat rubbed his temples. “That’s part of why going to the Mother Grub is so important for us. We’ve got to make our presence known and show them that – that you’re not about to abandon them just because some snide asshole has their head shoved too far up their nook to treat sentient beings like sentient beings.”

The caravan was quiet for a moment. It was too cool for crickets or cicadas, but Jane would bet that if they were out, they would drone on and drown out their thoughts. She would have welcomed it, for it would be much easier to stifle the idea of hatred towards a strengthened bond, and what that could mean for what she and Dirk had planned. “You mean…make sure they know we’re on their side,” She said, “Through the shared species culture, and through getting to know them in person.”

“It’s like a counter-revolution,” Dirk said. He was almost in awe, and the light danced in his eyes. “While shit-stirrers slink around in bars and coffee shops, you’re going to the people to set them right. Clear the air. Strip out of the bullshit. You are arguing to the Proletariat that the Bourgeoisie actually give a goddamn…” He then shook his head. “You’re all gonna get tarred and feathered, man.”

Karkat groaned. He shuffled a bit, curling up in the nest towards Jane, and he looked so young there, like he was only seven sweeps and in great need of a nap. “I know. Don’t remind me. Can I please just tell you who’s with who so I can distract myself from my imminent public ridicule?”

She felt sorry for him, she really did, but Jane nudged the General regardless, her touch as gentle as could be. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep,” She said, her voice soft, “It might be better if you went and did that. Save your strength. Tomorrow’s going to be quite the day.”

“But-” Karkat’s words were caught in a yawn, and now Dirk joined in with the nudging.

“Go,” He said. “We have your chart, we’ll figure it all out. Just keep your mind blank and you won’t think about it.”

Slowly, the Princess and King managed to shoo the sleepy, insistent General out of the caravan, watching him totter sleepily down the ladder. When the door finally shut behind him, the pair breathed a sigh.

“How did I not know any of that?” Dirk asked as he sunk back into the nest. Jane shrugged, leaning over to blow out the candle, and  they were plunged into the night once more.

“I couldn’t say. You’ve been busy, perhaps?”

“Well, yeah, but I’d think I would remember species tensions being brought up at the dining room table.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Some fucking King I am. Don’t even know that half the population’s trying to start a revolution.”

Jane watched him in his silence, eyes slipping closed in exhaustion, brow still furrowed in thought. She reached over and brushed his brow smooth with gentle fingertips, and he smiled. “It’s not like you to miss a thing,” She said, “So what’s kept you so busy, hm?”

“Things.”

“Things?”

“And stuff.”

“Mm-hm. Things and stuff you’re not keen on telling me?” He nodded, and she took this and nestled it next to the mystery of the empty picture frame. “I suppose I’ll have to figure them out for myself, or wait until you’re feeling generous.”

His smile deepened, revealing his teeth. It was more of a cheeky expression, yes, but it was free and bright, and she could just see it in the shadows. “I have no idea how you can stand me,” He said, “Time and again I prove myself to be a reprehensible asshole. I keep secrets from you. I’m pretty sure that if I didn’t have a shred of decency and self control I’d have absconded with one of your palace guards a long time ago-” She chuckled, and he nudged her. “I’m serious, it’s like you put out a want ad for Adonis in the classifieds and found a way to spawn more of him. I even tried to kill you once, if you’ve already forgotten. But anyway, point is, I am far from ideal. You’re too good to me, Jane. Why do you bother?”

Jane leaned down, closer to Dirk’s face, so that their noses nearly brushed. “Because you’re far from ideal,” She said, “The both of us are. And I happen to like that.”

Dirk hummed, and his eyes cracked open. “You’re…a little too far away,” He said, and Jane’s heart leapt in her chest. When she leaned further down, he arched his neck up just so to catch her lips, and it was soft and brief and tingling but it was all either of them needed, and they hunkered down in the blanket nest, the thought of rebellions and outcries shrinking in their minds as they dipped into sleep once more.

~*~

The trolls were gone when they awoke, and there was indeed a chart left for Jane and Dirk, a swath of parchment rolled up and tied with twine. They took it with them when they returned to the castle, where breakfast had been laid in the main hall, and around the great table their brothers and cousins sat picking at eggs and toast, while workers milled to and fro with material and tools, up and down the spiraled stairs once again. It was strange not to see familiar sets of horns, and Jane found herself picking at her food as well, her mind wandering to the caravans that even now travelled through the Scratchlands. She hoped things were going smoothly, and that they would continue to be smooth. She hoped-

A fork reached over to tap the edge of the plate. Jane looked up; Roxy was straining herself over the table to catch her attention, and when her eyes met Jane’s she smiled. There was no redness to her whatsoever, so it was safe to assume that she had not yet imbibed. “Whatcha got there, Janey?” She asked, jabbing her fork towards the parchment. Jane pulled it back, wary of the egg that still clung to the tines.

“It’s a chart,” She said, “Karkat left it for us, and-”

“Whoa, hold up there.” Dave flipped his spectacles up and squinted. “What kind of chart? Because ‘Rezi was chatting me up something fierce about ‘Karkat’s shipping diagram’, and if that’s it, then it’s burning a hole in that table the longer we’re not laughing at what a fucked up tangle of tenta-dicks this whole thing is going to become.”

John snorted into his eggs. “Trolls don’t have tentacles for penises, Dave,” He said. Dave let his spectacles drop into place.

“Have you ever seen one to know, John?” He asked. “How can you be sure? What if every single troll in the world had a writhing, wriggling mass of eldritch horror in their pants and you doubted it? What kind of retribution would you have to face?” With waggling eyebrows he turned to Rose, who had continued to eat her breakfast with poise. “I bet you Rose knows what’s goin’ on down there. So what’s the deal, Lalonde?”

“Dave, please,” Rose said, not bothering to meet his eyes, “I’m eating.” She paused to place her fork down and dab a napkin at her lips before continuing. “And let it be said that perhaps you should take the things the venerable Lady Pyrope says with a grain of salt instead of to your so clearly smitten heart.”

When Dave leaned back and his chair creaked, Rose let her mouth quirk up in a triumphant smile, and Roxy and John both stifled chuckles. Dirk sighed and rapped his knuckles on the table.

“She’s right. That’s not something you bring up at breakfast, dude. Save it for another time.”

“Fine, okay, but can we at least look at the stupid chart?” Dave asked, and all eyes turned to Jane. She kept her thumb and forefinger firmly pinched on the parchment.

“Um – it’s kind of busy in here at the moment,” She said, gesturing to the workers. Some had paused to listen to their conversation, their glances not so subtle and their ears perked. “Perhaps we should wait until the room clears out?”

“Oh, flapdoodle and balderdash,” Said Jake, “A whole gaggle of trolls’ll know who’s shacked up with who by the end of the week! What’s a few more ears going to hurt?” The workers brightened at Jake’s words, and Jane bit her lip, Karkat’s visit the night before still fresh in her mind. As blustery as he could be with his volume and bravado, she did not doubt the sincerity of his concerns. The more she could help diffuse the situation the better, and if that meant holding her tongue for a day or two, then she would do it with a smile.

Perhaps her mind could not be read, but her hesitation was clear, and Jade noticed it with a frown. She tugged Jake’s sleeve. “It’s probably better if the owners of those ears did their work instead of waiting around, listening to us talk about people they don’t even know well,” Jade said loudly, and the workers’ expressions deflated. One by one they flaked away, tramping up the stairs to their awaiting work.

“That was harsh, Little Harley,” Dirk said as the last workers disappeared. Jade grinned and gave a little salute.

“They were way too nosy when I went to get Dave yesterday! They totally deserve it.” She turned to Jane and bounced in her seat. “Well? It’s alright now, right? We can see the chart?” The others chimed in with various levels of exhibited enthusiasm, and at some point John started to pound the table in a rhythm. Before she knew it all the Duchesses and Dukes and even Dirk had joined him, and she sighed as she relented, pulling off the twine with ease.

“Okay, _fine_. But please, keep it to yourselves!”

She unfurled the parchment and laid it out in the middle of the table, and immediately chairs scraped as the others stood to look at it, whether it was legible to them or not. The chart was made of three columns and twelve rows; the center column had each trolls’ name written in Kanaya’s exacting hand. The column to the left had a heart drawn above it, and the one on the right a spade. Under each was a line of hatch symbols, each one written in its own distinct color of ink, and Jane scanned each with her eyes. Some of the symbols had asterisks next to them.

“I think each row is the matchups for a different person,” She said, and pointed to Sollux’s row. “And see here? I believe Lord Captor was the only one who was said to have his quadrants in order, and both of them have little stars. So if you want a clear picture, you branch off from the middle column, and you can see what was already in place and what was slapped together.”

“Well it’s neat, I’ll give them that,” Dirk said, and he eyed the psiionic’s row. “Though I gotta say, I’m surprised. Feferi is new, and I didn’t think him and Ampora were still doing the pitch thing.”

“Aw, yeah, that’s definitely a recent makeup-hookup,” Roxy said, leaning over on her elbows, “Mister Wixard Fins told me aaaaaaall about it. In _detail_.” She waggled her eyebrows and grinned. “It’s hella times more juicy than the chart, if anybody wants to-”

Rose pressed a finger to Roxy’s mouth, and she was silenced immediately. “Perhaps later, sister dear,” She said, “There’s quite a lot to hold our attention for now. If one of you in a better position could tell me, if I’m to deduce Sollux’s flushed quadrant correctly, where might Lady Megido now fall? I thought the pair might be in one of their redder dips.”

“Nah, Aradia says she and Sollux don’t flip anymore,” Dave said, “At least not official-like. Apparently Feffles _reel_ -ly doesn’t like to share.” He flipped up his shades again to squint at the parchment. “Huh. It certainly makes her and Aradia work for the spade thing, though. Wonder if that could become a Thing.”

“But what about her flushed quadrant?” Rose asked, and she pulled the paper closer and flipped it so she could read. Her eyes widened. “Oh my. She’s taken up with Lord Zahhak?”

Jane had to stifle a gasp at that. Although she did like each Lord and Lady for their own reasons, Jane was also very mindful about what made them abrasive towards each other, and if one thing was certain to her, it was that she never expected that kind of arrangement. “What? _No_! You’re surely pulling our legs!”

Roxy peered over her sister’s shoulder to check for herself, her eyebrows shooting up. “Nah, she’s tellin’ the truth. But I feel you, that’s weird. I know he’s got a wacky crush on her, but…”

“But nothing, he’s very poor at communicating it!” Jane exclaimed, and she had rub her temples with both hands. “Not to mention all the times he’s been extraordinarily rude to her about all that hemobabble. I know he thinks he’s doing the right thing, but if I’d been getting the same reaction from my malarkey for years I’d have tried to change my ways by now!”

All she could get for an answer was a shrug from Rose. “Perhaps she thinks that his…‘fondness’…is the closest she will get for forming a sort of bond this time around.”

“Oh, that’s sad, don’t say it like that!”

“Well what’re they supposed to do?” John asked, his brow furrowed in concern. “They had to pair a lot of people together at the last minute, right? Not everybody’s going to be happy. Hey, Rose, could you pass the chart to me for a second? There’s something I want to check.”

“By all means, John,” She said, and handed it over with a flourish. He took it with a toothy grin. “Which of our intrepid associates has piqued your curiosity?”

“Karkat,” He said, and Jade said it too, at the same time. He looked to his cousin. “Oh, oh, jinx!”

She rolled her eyes. “No jinx! You’re too predictable, John. You ask about Karkat all the time, you bring him up a lot, you volunteer to go find him. Why don’t you just marry Karkat if you like him so much?”

John laughed. “What? No way, we’re friends! Just like how everybody else is friends. Besides-” He flared the paper once, an impressive and laughably meaningless gesture. “I am not a homosexual.” There was a pause as the others glanced around the table, and then John’s eyes widened, and he held the paper at arm’s length. “Oh. Huh. That’s unexpected.”

“What’s unexpected?” Jane asked, and as she leaned over John’s shoulder to squint at the parchment, she heard chairs scrape as the others got up to join them; only Dirk stayed in his seat, chin propped up on laced fingers and an air of curiosity about him. “Let me take a wild guess. Would it happen to be Karkat?”

“Oh my God, you and Jade are both awful,” He said, but he still nodded. “His pair-ups are just weird. I didn’t think he liked or hate-liked either of these guys. If anything, I thought Terezi-”

Rose cleared her throat. “Lady Pyrope is taking my place as Kanaya’s temporary matesprit,” She said, “She thought the both of us being Seers and, well, ladies, would help ease her into the situation somewhat. The whole thing is absolutely ludicrous and primeval, but if it must be done, then far be it from either of us to make sure that it’s done in a way we are both comfortable with.”

She examined her nails when John frowned. “Yeah, I get that, but it’s pretty obvious to everyone in Prospit that Karkat’s had a crush-thing on her.”

“For how long?” Rose asked, raising a delicate eyebrow.

“Like, _years_. I’m pretty sure even she knew about it, but he never said anything, so she never brought it up. We all figured he would say something for this, but I guess Kanaya beat him to the punch.”

“Hm, I suppose she had. Fancy that.” Her eyes flickered to the paper. “So who ended up in Lord Vantas’s covetous quadrants? Let me guess. Lady Leijon?”

“Rose, why would you guess Nepeta when you can see the paper?”

“Aw, man, you don’t know?” Dave asked, “Girl chilled in your palace for three years and you don’t have the common sense to listen to her in between the purring and awful cat puns? Kitty’s got it bad for Crabby McNubs, like yowling at the moon and fetching dead things to leave at his doorstep and grooming herself with her tongue yesterday morning kind of bad. So did she bag him or not?”

“Dave, you can see the paper too!” Jade exclaimed. “Why’s everybody so lazy? Just read the stupid thing for yourself, oh my gosh!!” She snatched the paper out of John’s hands, and before anyone could take it back she had scrambled onto the table, miraculously missing plates of food and half-filled glasses as she strode to the center to stand. “I’ll read the whole thing aloud, okay? Now go sit down and be quiet!”

The Duchess of Harley waited for her fellows to return to their seats and tapped her foot impatiently; she stuck her tongue out at Roxy’s pouts and leveled a stare at Jane’s chuckles. The Duchess certainly spared no expense when it came to getting her way, Jane though. When all were seated, Jade cleared her throat and began to read.

“Aradia is hearts with Equius and spades with Feferi. Tavros is hearts with Gamzee, which has a little star by it so they’ve been hearting for a while, and spades with Vriska. Sollux is hearts with Feferi and spades with Eridan, both with stars. Karkat is hearts with Eridan and spades with Equius – really, you guys couldn’t figure it out yourselves?” She asked Dave and Rose. When they opened their mouths in retort, she tutted and waggled her finger. “Nuh-uh, don’t say anything or we’ll never finish! Nepeta is hearts with Vriska and spades with Kanaya, Kanaya is hearts with Terezi and spaces with Nepeta like I just said. Terezi is hearts with Kanaya and spades with Gamzee-”

“Son of a bugger, that’s been percolating for a while now-”

Jade stamped her foot, rattling the plates and silverwear. “Jaaaaake! Pleeease! Lemme finish!” He grinned sheepishly and shrunk back in his seat, and when she was sure he would not speak up, Jade furled the paper much like John had done. “Anyway! Vriska is-”

She became dangerously still when Roxy rapped her knuckles on the table in a rhythm. “Oh-em-gee, Jadey, I think we get it from here,” She said, “But I think we’ve got an even bigger issue on the table!” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “And that’s how the fuck any of that makes any sense!!”

“It does sound like they just put everyone’s name in a hat and pulled them out at random,” Rose said, “I wouldn’t expect any of those pairs to last beyond the pailing – the new ones anyway.”

“That’s not really our business,” Jade said, and she rolled up the parchment and strode across the table to hand it back to Jane. “But now you know, and now we can stop being huge dorks about it.”

“I’m not gonna stop being a huge dork about it,” Dirk said. He tapped Jane on the shoulder. “Could I borrow the chart? I need to take notes.”

“Notes for what?” Jane asked.

“For my personal reference.”

“What in blooming bollocks do you need notes like that for your personal reference?” Jake asked, and the others began to chime in, equally mystified. It continued on between the royalty of Prospit and Derse, eight young adults whittling away their first morning alone debating the romantic entanglements of their peers with the full knowledge that their words in that moment would not be what changed things, if they changed at all, but it felt good to say them and to be riled and excited. For a little while, it was okay not to think of matters of state. It was okay to be young.

~*~

As important as youth is, and to find enjoyment wherever it could be found, that did not make the other important things go away or shrink in its wake. There was work brought from palaces to be poured over, projects of allegiance to be spruced, and in time even the citizens of the town around them came calling, many unsure to whom they were ruled by, and thus thought it best to address both kingdoms as a whole when it came to problems – and there was no shortage of them! There were disputes over land, what to be farmed and what to build upon, what was fine to tear apart and what should be preserved; business squabbles of all kinds and the question of how to deal with crime. Crime already in such a happy little town! That alone was enough to dishearten some. But people were people, no matter if they were human or troll, and these things came with society. The most that could be done, the eight of them knew, was to work at the problems and make the solutions the best they could possibly be for everyone.

It was in this way that the first day without the trolls passed, and the second too, so by the third there was much less work to be done, and all agreed that a respite was needed. Free to group or splinter, the royals called a recess after their lunch, and as soon as she was able, Jane snuck away to the grass corridor and the empty picture frame. She had not forgotten it, for it still held so much mystery for her. The few times she had caught Dirk alone, after meals or before they parted to sleep, she would ask him about it in a number of ways, but he revealed nothing and left her with a wry and infuriating smile. What else was she to do but investigate?

With sharp eye and keen determination, Jane proceeded to examine every inch of the frame. She could tell you the width and height, how it was made of smooth, sturdy wood and painted over in silver leaf. The carvings, intricate and intertwined, seemed imprinted on the underside of her eyelids. She could explain in detail how no matter what she did to jostle it, the frame would not budge, as if it were fastened directly into the stone wall. The only thing she could not discern was why Dirk was so secretive about it. Even when she turned away in defeat, its presence still broiled in her mind, and she knew that at some point, before the caravans were packed and ready to return to Prospit’s golden halls, she would weasel the answer out of him.

Really, she thought, what in the world was his fascination with it?

The third day passed with little fanfare, and the fourth came with sun and the creeping warmth of spring that had long been anticipated. The issues now were scarce, trickling in as they occurred and not fettered with brewing resentment or unsure procedure. The most concerning matter to attend to was the arrival of the trolls, who were sure to be tired and stressed and hungry after their trying…excursion. (It was the word the humans had agreed on, the truth still so strange to them.) With construction coming along above and a small, happy feast cooking below, the royalty pitched in and readied the throne room. Everything was cleaned as well as it could be, the table was set, the chairs pushed in. It was all extraordinarily odd to those who had taken up to servitude in the unfinished castle, to see a leader working hard on their hands and knees, but from the design of the building to the laws of their allegiance, the royals of Prospit and Derse had decided early on that, if they could, they would take care of themselves. For so long others had controlled their worlds in sweetness or in disdain. They were in control of their own destinies now, and thus they took responsibility wherever possible, even for the smallest of things. They would grow food in the grass corridor and clean their living spaces; they would work to better each other.

And besides – under Jane’s direction, the sparse hall was in no way a sloppy dining room; the tableware was clean, the cloths and napkins creased where they had to be and free of wrinkles everywhere else. She out of all of them had the most experience with these sorts of things, for working under a demanding and ruthless master impressed a sense of perfection in her. It was not healthy by any means, but when all was ready it made for a pretty picture.

“This should be our painting for your precious frame,” She said when Dirk came near. He reached over to straighten a fork on the table. “Everyone sitting together, smiling and happy…I don’t think there’s much more unifying than supper at a big round table, is there?”

“It sounds so domestic I may puke up a white picket fence,” He said, and she chuckled and swatted his shoulder. “I’ll ask someone to send up an artist to sketch it out. But are you sure you want to do it now? Our horned friends are gonna come through those doors looking like death warmed over. Bring a painter in here and they’re going to preserve that exhausted sex look into the annals of time. Seven generations down the line and the little dudes with the crown in their future will be giggling themselves stupid over hickeys peeking out over collars and side glances of bedroom eyes from those who couldn’t get enough. When the kingdoms are dust and the borders have all shifted and this place is some kind of republic, they’re going to have tiny copies of the painting in textbooks with commentary written in the margins about the subtext and scandal around Rockwellian sensibility and how thoroughly and utterly _fucked_ the heralds of the courts look-”

“Okay!” Jane exclaimed in a burst of laughter, “Yes, I – I get it, hoo hoo! But they can’t – hoo, fudge it a little?”

“Well, if you want them to lie, they could,” Dirk said. “But painting is in itself a kind of lie. I don’t think you’d get much resistance if you asked an artist to overlook a couple details.”

And so an artist was summoned, and the table was set. When the servants who had cooked brought up covered platters of supper, the eight knew their friends were close, and they spilled out the front door to watch for the returning caravans. The day was quiet and without a breeze, but it was still nice. With patience they waited, some whispering between themselves, others with their eyes glued to the long path ahead, and the motionless gate they could just make out. What had the trolls seen? How had it all gone? This and more they wondered, and kept their fingers crossed for answers tonight.

The sun had come to rest its edge on the horizon when the gate beyond swung open. The eight humans all watched as the caravans trundled closer, and though Jane had not felt much worry for the returning heralds, now there was something anxious tugging at her limbs and tying up her mind, something flighty that she could not pin down. But when the caravans rolled to a stop before them and the doors opened, she pushed it to an empty corner of her mind to let her heart break, for every single one of them looked nothing short of wearied. No pair of eyes was not dulled or ringed with heaviness, no step not shuffled, and they lined up quietly before them. They were the same twelve trolls, but that empty space of a divide was just too much, and for a moment or a minute or however long a segment of time, no one made to cross it.

Then, with a heaving breath, Karkat Vantas was the troll to break the ranks. All eyes were on him as he took the four members of the Prospitian royalty by the shoulders and, to the astonishment of all, hugged them of his own free will. After a second’s hesitation, Jane did her best to hug him back, biting back the question on her lips as her family followed suit.

“I never thought it’d happen,” He said, his voice gravel and gruff, “But I missed the fuck out of you guys.”

That was it – that was what broke the dam, and the others rushed forward as tension fizzled away. There were some that were met with open arms and warm embraces, others with handshakes and quick squeezes and bright grins. It seemed fitting for another group hug, but there was a quiet consensus among them all that led them through the great doors and into the throne room, where supper was met with wide eyes and grateful cheers. There was no order when it came to seating, and the dishes were passed around immediately, conversation thick in the air and heavy on the tongue. It was hard to pick any one thing to jump into, for there were so many speakers, and there was so much to keep up with.

“I have nefur seen so many trolls in one place in my whole life! And I made lots of new furriends, I’m going to visit them as soon as pawsible-”

“Okay, so maaaaaaaaybe I cheated a few merchants out of their fortunes during our down time. But they should know better! When it comes to dice-”

“They giwe you a fuckin’ can a beans for ewery meal, I thought I was liwin’ w-with a bunch of cawetrolls. And you hawe to cook it yourself-”

“There was a whole mess of Mirthfuls like you wouldn’t believe, bro, and we had a right wicked service that first night! Faygo flowed as free as tears-”

On and on it went, a carousel of words, light returning to weary faces…for the most part. There were some who were still quiet. Aradia picked at something with a few too many legs on her plate, thoughtful with lips pursed. Karkat too was strangely solemn, barely listening to Dirk as he rifled through his notes and slipped in some altogether snide assumptions about the General’s ‘Shipping Chart’, as the King called it. Not once did he even seem the least bit riled.

But the oddest silence of all came from Rose, and Jane was not the only one to notice it. As the meal progressed, the Duchess had begun to pale, and for some time Kanaya could keep her attention, her smiles ever tinged with a growing concern. It did not last; color seemed sapped from Rose’s face, and even her lips lost their tint as an eerie stillness settled over her. She had barely touched her supper by the time dessert was set out, and she could not seem to move to clear her plate away. When Kanaya did it for her, all Rose could do was nod to her in thanks, and Jane knew something was wrong. She left her seat quietly and walked around to the Duchess, kneeling beside her with nothing but the utmost concern. “Rose?”

She could not even turn to acknowledge the Princess. Both of her arms had wrapped around her middle, and Jane made to rest a hand on one of hers. “Is something wrong? Are you feeling ill?”

The moment their hands touched, Jane felt something _wrong_. Rose’s skin was clammy and cold, and it was almost as if something _writhed_ under the very surface. Jane pulled back with a gasp and held her hand close to her chest. Rose must have felt something too, or perhaps she had felt it building within her all along, for suddenly she lurched forward, head bowed to the table and gagging.

All went silent. Every head turned to her, and several folks made their chairs topple as they stood up, but Jane did not know what they gasped about until something black and thick dripped down from Rose’s mouth and over the edge of the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a pretty weak chapter in my opinion, but with that ending we're getting into the starting edge of the visible conflict! WOO! Alright, awesome! That's definitely something to look forward to.


	3. Grimdark

There were hands on Jane’s shoulders now, pulling her back - Kanaya’s hands, judging by the glow. “Stay away, Your Grace!” She exclaimed, “Under no circumstances should you touch the ooze!”

The others backed away immediately, but Jane struggled in the troll’s hold. “What’s going on?” Jane asked, and judging by the chorused questions in varying levels of vulgarity, she was not the only one who wished to know. Kanaya shook her head, worrying her lip with her pristine fangs.

“I do not know,” She said, looking to the Duchess. More and more ooze dripped down from her mouth, and there was a hiss of smoke as it travelled further across the table. “But Rose has told me in the past about this. It is a sort of fit. It needs to pass, and the ooze is dangerous.”

Another chair toppled as Roxy abandoned the table, a steadiness to her gait that Jane had never seen before. “It’s not just dangerous,” She said, “Saying it’s dangerous is like saying the sky is blue or some shit. It’s totes obvious to anyone with eyes.” Unafraid, Roxy edged closer to her sister, eyes flitting ever downward to watch the spread of the ooze. “This is what happens when a Seer goes around and plays with dark magiky things when they’re still learning how to read. She’s in a super deep trance.”

“Roxy, that’s no trance,” Dirk said, gesturing to Rose’s form. Now her skin was changing, a dark grey spreading across it in rashlike patches, and she held herself tighter and groaned. “I’ve seen her trance before. This is not a trance. Do _not_ bullshit us right now.”

She shrugged at the King with ease. “What can I tell ya, Dirky, you never saw her go full-throttle before.”

“And you have?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. “When was that, exactly? I seem to recall you lighting out of the fucking picture for most of our remembered childhoods.”

The others looked around with uncomfortable glances as Roxy answered. “Rosie’s grimdark trancin’ is probably the first thing I _can_ remember,” She said. When she reached her sister’s side, Roxy took Rose gently by the shoulders and sat her upright. There was nothing else coming from her mouth, but she spoke something garbled and rhythmic that only grew louder with every word. “And she called it a trance back then, not me. When we were kids, I thought she was dying.” With a flourish Roxy plucked a napkin from the table and wiped Rose’s face clean. The Duchess twitched in her grasp “Aw, there we go, sweetie. Issokay, Mamma Lalonde’s got you.”

Despite her sister’s reassurance, Rose did not hush. If anything she grew louder, pronouncing her gibberish with startling clarity. Jane felt the hands on her shoulders tremble. “Is there anything that we can do to help her?” Kanaya asked.

“Nah, we just gotta let it pass,” Roxy said. Usually her calm and carefree ways were reassuring, but the set of her jaw and the preciseness of her movements made her all the more serious, and it was unsettling to see. When Rose’s hands started to jerk, Roxy clasped them in her owns. “Okay, Rose, I got you hun, issokay-”

All at once Jane was free as Kanaya rushed forward, toes narrowly missing the creeping ooze as she reached out to embrace Rose. As if so prompted, Dave and Dirk broke from the others to join them, and Jane fell back to the others.

“There’s got to be something we can do,” Jane whispered, eyes only for the scene. “Does anyone have any ideas?”

“We could get a doctor?” John asked.

“I think a doctor might assume she was possessed,” Aradia said, “And not in the good way.”

“Oh, so we need a pious motherfucker all up and in here,” Gamzee said, “Get the wickedest of clownish voodoo exorcisms goin’ on and whatlike! I could do it, lemme grab my horns-”

Tavros latched onto the other troll’s arm. “Maybe that’s, not such a good idea, Gamzee,” He said, “I don’t think, Rose believes in the same things, that you happen to believe in, so maybe, it might not work?”

Gamzee turned to Tavros, his expression deflated. “…No horn La Cucaracha?”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, no,” Jane said, rubbing at her temples. “I mean no offense, Lord Makara-”

“None taken, Little Princess-”

“-But we need to be sure that what we do strikes this madness straight out of our court, if you will! And though we know you put much stock into your faith…” There was a collective groan and many rolled eyes, none of which seemed to phase Gamzee in the least, “It is known to be…capricious. We need something completely solid.”

A hand shot up over the heads and horns. “Forgive my intrusion,” Said Terezi, and the group parted as she came forward, cane held behind her back. Her mouth was a smile of gleaming, sharp teeth. “But there are some things I wish to clarify before I propose a solution. What the Duchess is experiencing, she has called it a ‘trance’?”

Jane nodded. “Apparently.”

“And a trance is a state of mind that only a Seer can achieve, is it not?” Terezi hooked a thumb under the collar of her shirt, and pulled out a chain, on the end of which hung a copper dragon’s head with a piece of dappled chrysocolla in its maw. “You know the breadth my powers with Mind, Your Grace. Comparably sturdy to your other options!” When Karkat leaned over with his mouth open, Terezi pressed the head of her cane against it. “I know it’s dangerous,” She said, “But it also sounds like a lot of fun. Don’t get in my way, Karkat, let me try.”

He protested something awful, arms flailing about, but his every word was garbled by the presence of the cane, and for some reason Karkat did not think to move. Terezi chuckled.

“You’re certain you could do something?” Jane asked. Her Seer shrugged.

“Whether or not that something will help, I couldn’t tell you, but I know I could _do_ something.”

With no wait for permission or any indication that she thought she needed any, Terezi broke from the group to stand at the table, directly across from Rose. Those who had flocked to the Duchess’s side looked up as the dragon’s head pendant was loosened from its owner’s neck and held forward. “Hold her down, please, I am going to attempt to fish Miss Lalonde out of her personal day terror.”

They tensed, none more than Roxy, but when it was clear that Terezi would not budge, the others gripped Rose’s shoulders and arms, trapping her in place. With a deep breath, and ignoring Roxy’s peeved expression, Terezi began her attempt. A teal light formed around the pendant, and slowly it began to move, levitating until it pointed at Rose’s forehead like a compass arrow pointing north. As the glow grew more intense Rose became more and more still, but the chanting did not soften or stop, droning on in a constant flow. The longer she stood in concentration, the longer Terezi began to tremble, and the nobles and royals looked amongst themselves. Was it working? Was it failing? None of them could be sure. It was a gambit of uncertainties.

There was am abrupt, sharp gasp from Terezi at the same time that Rose’s words came to a halt, and there was a moment of absolute silence in the throne room. No breath rushed, no heart beat, even the black ooze ceased its advance. And then –

Both Seers threw their heads back, eyes impossibly wide, and in tandem spoke, Rose in garbled sounds and Terezi in plain speech, one line after another:

‘ _Tween springs’ breaths a spectre shall appear_

_Six deaths in hand, for none he’ll shed a tear_

_By trepidation’s whim he claims his first_

_Into the mud breath bubbles to its last_

_The second felled by brokenhearted woe_

_Olive the stopper, cutting off the flow_

_The light’s unyielding glare maddens the third_

_Cerulean the seas that come to flood_

_Royal blue the fourth’s visage will become_

_Devoid of all, mind and body shall numb_

_And from the fifth a spray of violent hope_

_In an attempt to, for a vic’try, grope_

_The last, a font of lifeblood e’er wells_

_Dreams of empire gone, a rebellion quell’d_ ”

The words echoed in every ear, until Terezi’s pendent fell to the ground with a clatter and both Seers slumped back. The rush to aid them was immediate, hands reaching out to grab and shake them, a cacophony of calls for doctors and increasingly frustrated assertions of no, that is not how you handle someone who’s fainted, step back and let me do it, until one call rose above the rest.

“What in the ever-loving fuck-smack of the universe _was_ all that?” The General exclaimed. He had Terezi’s head in his lap and was papping her cheeks furiously in an attempt to rouse her. “Somebody better tell me right now, or I am going to crap a castle on top of this castle!”

“Thure thounded like a prophecy to me,” Sollux said, leaning over Karkat to get a better look at the fallen Seer. “For real, KK, what elthe would a theer thee in a trance?”

The General glared up at him. “Thanks for the clarification, Lord of Apparent Observations. I want to know what it means!”

“Well maybe you would know what it meanth if you were paying attention!”

“Oh please, you were just as distracted by Rose’s black barfslime as the rest of us! Don’t you go and act all high and mighty now!”

Both trolls continued to squabble over their fellow, but already the gears in Jane’s mind were turning. Reluctantly, she pulled herself away from the scene around Terezi to go to those at Rose’s side, tiptoeing over the trails of black ooze. “Roxy?” Jane called, “Roxy, I need to ask you something.”

The elder Duchess glanced up at Jane, her arms full of her sister’s slumped body. Rose’s skin had begun to change back to its usual hue. “Right now?” She asked. Jane nodded.

“You said you’ve experienced Rose’s trances before, right? Does she remember anything from them afterwards?”

“If she did, she sure never told me,” Roxy said, “And I don’t think ‘Rezi should’ve done anything! I dunno what’ll happen to them now, Rosie woulda just snapped out of it-”

“Gills, _please_!” Feferi cried, “This is no time for arguments! We shrimply need a doctor!!” But no one seemed to heed her words, or pause to bend to anybody. The groups were a frantic mess of nerves and fear, and without any organization they would surely dissolve into chaos. Somehow, someway, Jane met Dirk’s eyes, and they shared a moment of understanding: chaos could not reign, not when something so serious had occurred.

“Doctor?” Jane mouthed. Dirk shook his head.

“Wait on it,” He mouthed back, “Let them rest.”

And that decided that. With great hemming and hawing, the Princess and King were able to sedate the group, sending their Seers to their sleeping quarters in the caravans. Each was charged with an attendant of sorts, Kanaya to Rose and Karkat to Terezi, simply because they refused to leave the sides of the unconscious, and the others dispersed after both ladies were tucked neatly into bed, a relieving calm settling over their bodies.

The whole thing had set everyone on edge. Moirails stuck with Moirails, if they were not already indisposed in some way, and those alone sat in thought, with various expressions betraying their moods. The humans sans Rose could not bring themselves to split, finding themselves cleaning the mess of supper in the throne room in silence. All that would be left of the ooze was the mark of the trails it traveled seared into the wood and cloth, and it would never come out, but they tried to scrub it away regardless.

While cleaning was usually a calming act for her, Jane was entirely unsettled. The words of the Seers still rang in her ears, and if they had not seemed so foreboding, they would have made for lovely poetry, if a bit unsettling. Rose and Terezi had great power, that they had proven and that she respected. She would be worried if it was a normal sort of vision, of course, but…the funny chanting. The ooze. It was unnatural to the highest degree, and she wanted to take these words as seriously as possible. She wanted to write them down before the rhymes became muddled in her memory, and work at them like a puzzle, decipher them precisely. She wanted discussion and discourse until everyone was practically blue in the face, but what could be done? The Seers were asleep, and the night settled exhaustion into every limb.

Not a word had come from Rose or Terezi when the throne room was clear, and this was when the humans finally parted. Jane did not bother to figure out who went with who, taking fistfuls of skirt and retreating to the door as soon as all was done. She did not look back, not when she reached her caravan, not when she climbed up to the loft and curled up in the blankets alone.

She was there for quite some time, the world around her quiet and dark and her thoughts at a loss. They were all supposed to be leaving for Prospit tomorrow, the engagement was supposed to be announced tomorrow. Could they even travel if the Seers did not recover by morning? Would it be right to reveal their plan after all that had been said?

Eventually, there was a knock at the caravan door, and when Jane did not welcome the caller inside, they took it upon themselves to enter. “They’re still asleep. No change.” A pause. “Well, Rose looks less like death warmed over with a side of toxic sludge. That can probably be counted as an improvement.”

She rolled over in the blanket nest. “I’ll take anything at this point. Dirk…what are we going to do?”

“Is there anything we _can_ do?” Steps crossed the caravan slowly, and the rungs of the loft ladder creaked one by one. “Besides sit around with our thumbs up our asses and whistle Dixie while six of our number die within a year.” When Jane sat up, he had reached the top of the ladder. “That’s basically what they said, right? Or am I going deaf? You can tell me the truth, Jane, it’s okay. I can take it.”

“No, you’re right,” She said, and she scooted over when he crawled to her side, sighing as he lay back in the nest. “From this spring to the next, and the killer will have no mercy. It’s a question of who shall die that has us all on edge. It could be anyone.”

He raised a finger. “That’s a little broad, though. I think it could be narrowed down if you look at the couplets. Each indicated death is paired with a descriptor of how they’ll die, and I’ll bet you that there are clues in those descriptors. I’ve got a feeling we’ll get lucky, and one of our wonderfully gifted friends will remember the whole thing word for word, so we’re not mislead when we’re figuring it out.” Dirk let the finger drop, and his hand found Jane’s in the darkness. “So don’t freak out, okay? We’re twenty kids with twenty different ways of looking at the world. We’ll crack the code before Death can pistol whip any of us with his skeleton dick.”

Jane sighed. “Well, when you put it so eloquently, I feel completely reassured.”

“You know I’m just kidding.” Dirk squeezed her hand. “There aren’t any literal bones in a dick anyway.”

“ _Dirk_!” She shoved his shoulder with her free hand, and he reached over to shove her back. The monarchs quickly dissolved into pushes and light smacks, none of it with the intention to hurt. They even started to laugh after a while, the simple roughhousing funneling their concentration and lightening their hearts. For a moment, it seemed that this trouble wasn’t quite as insurmountable as it seemed. For a moment, there wasn’t an inkling of worry in them at all.

But a moment is all it takes.

A great banging and crashing echoed around them, faint from distance and through the walls of the caravan, but Jane jumped and Dirk stilled when it reached their ears. Shouting followed, and Dirk slid away to hurry down. “The fuck is happening?”

“Hey, hold on-” Jane’s hands scrambled at the wall, and her pinkie finger caught on a latch. She grabbed at it, and with a click a bit of wood lowered to reveal a hidden cache. Her fingertips grazed over its contents – the knob of a hammer, the twin barrels of pistols, the trigger of a rifle, before coming to rest on a familiar handle. Jane yanked it free, and even in the dim light she could see the outline of her trident shine. No royal in their right mind would journey without protection, after all. She started down the ladder as Dirk leapt out of the caravan. “Where are you going?!” Jane called, but he did not answer.

Outside, the night was cool and the breeze light, but it carried something sharp and smoky as it passed, and Jane looked around. The castle’s door had opened, and people were spilling out, servant and worker and noble, all seeking the source of the commotion. Many of them gaped and pointed towards the gate, and her eyes followed their fingers. The town lay beyond the gate, and there was a faint orange glow there that made Jane seize with terror.

There was another bang, and smoke tinged with licks of orange plumed into the air, screams sounding in its wake. In that moment, Jane felt her hand tighten around her trident and saw nothing but the brightest red. This was an act of war, and though she knew not from whom, it did not matter – those were her people suffering, and the perpetrator would pay, by hook or crook or golden tines.

She turned on her heel to the gaping crowds, and suddenly found fault with their shock. “What are you all doing?” She exclaimed, and brandished her trident to the burning town. “Looking at that mess isn’t going to help anyone – something must be done! I want as many people as possible to get ready to douse those flames! I want people here to set up an area to bring the injured inside the castle and I want a brigade at the wall to keep this place from burning too-” A thought struck her, and she held herself a little higher. “I – I want my horse! Someone get me Swanson immediately!”

The group dispersed in a flurry of action, and Jane was immediately swarmed by nobles, many insisting she stay, all begging to go with her, wherever she was headed. She held a hand up. “No, please, I need you all with the people. Decide amongst yourselves who will go with what group and lead them. I’m going to the gate.”

“Jane, please don’t do anything rash!” Jake said, pushing his way to her side. “You’ve got such a look on your face-”

“My face doesn’t have a thing to do with it,” Jane said, “And if I’ve got to be rash, I’ll be rash! Please, Jake, don’t talk to me of rashness when there could be people dying in the streets!”

There was a frustrated whinny as her black stallion was finally brought forth. Tavros had gotten him, and the others parted for him as he led the horse to Jane. “Um, Your Grace?” He said, eyes shifting back and forth, “I think, there’s something you should know? About the stables?”

Oh thank goodness for Lord Nitram, Jane thought, he’d gone and fitted Swanson with his saddle and reigns. She slipped her foot in a stirrup and hefted herself up. “Please don’t say they’re on fire,” She said, and he shook his head.

“No, I would have stayed to help, if it was,” He said, and he reached up to make sure she was balanced. “Um, keep your back straight – it’s just, His Majesty’s horse was gone too, and, I don’t think anybody’s seen him, so, maybe he’s at the gate?”

Jane gripped the reigns with her free hand and took a sharp breath. Of course Dirk would head for the danger on his own, and she could only hope he hadn’t gotten himself hurt already. “I’ll have to see that for myself,” She said, and then turned to the others. “Well? Don’t tell me you’re going to stand around and stare. Let’s go!”

The nobles split as she tore off to the gate, and Jane knew she could trust them to do what was right. Now, all she could see was the growing glow, pandemonium swelling in her ears and the air becoming hot and metallic on the palate. As she neared the gate, she saw the guards that had stood as sentries all this time holding it closed against the tide of panicked citizens, and the white mare Maplehoof stood unflappably before it, Dirk on her back, sword out and ready.

“-Only going to repeat it once,” She heard Dirk say, and the guards before him trembled at his voice, ice and blade and deathly stern. “Open. The gates.”

“They’ll trample each other, Your Majesty!” One guard exclaimed.

“We could let in some of the enemy by mistake,” Said the other, “They have _bombs_ , sir!”

“So you’d rather let everyone roast alive?” Jane asked, and she goaded Swanson on, until the horse’s face was a bit too close to the guards’. Dirk’s eyebrows rose up over the edges of his spectacles. “I thought a guard’s job was to protect and serve the people! Not abandon them in their time of need!”

“B-But My Lady-”

“There’s no room for buts, buster! Open the gates, I want everyone in the castle where they’ll be safe!”

The guards looked to each other, worrying lips all around, until they finally relinquished their hold. Immediately the people spilled forth, and Jane backed Swanson away so they could make it to the castle unhindered. Families held onto each other in long chains, the well carried the injured on their backs, and everyone was red and sweating from the heat, some sporting the beginnings of burns. Dirk had backed away on the other side of the throng, and she met his eyes; it was too much to see their subjects in pain.

This was their mistake, a moment of reflection, and it broke at the sound of something whistling through the air. An oblong thing sailed towards them in an arc, smoke and sparks sputtering from one end, and as soon as the guards noticed it they began to shout for cover. The people scrambled, and Swanson began to fidget and toss. As Jane pulled back on his reigns to calm him, an eye turned to the object, Dirk leapt off of Maplehoof and ran to catch it.

“DUCK!” He cried just as it fell into his hands. The people obeyed, and Dirk had barely touched it when he threw the object up into the sky as high as he could. The sparks fizzled, and then…

**_BOOM_ **

The area was flooded with hot smoke, and bits of ember stung at Jane and Swanson and everyone around, but the people fled immediately and the guards huddled around the gate, eyes wide with fear as they looked around for the source of the projectile. Jane heard the thud of Maplehoof’s hooves rush past.

“I see them!” Dirk said, “Grey cloaks in the streets! I’m going in!”

He disappeared from sight quickly, too quickly for Jane to call out to him, and she squeezed her eyes shut and coughed up every breath she took. How he could have spotted anyone, in grey of all colors and with those spectacles? It was a mystery that would have to wait for later. All she could do was clutch the reigns and hope she would not be thrown off.

When Jane finally dared to open her eyes those escaping the fire were well on their way to the castle, and a brigade stormed past and out the gate, arms laden with whatever receptacles they could find and filled to the brim with water. With how everything blazed, it would not last them long.

It was as Jane turned to herd the refugees when she spotted it, a dark and flowing mass alighting over the wall. About her size, it scurried faster than anything she had ever seen and cut across the courtyard, ripping through the fleeing crowds with no regard for how they flailed and shrieked in fear. That was more than enough to spur Swanson on.

Whoever it was couldn’t be human, and it was rare the troll that could push their way so effortlessly through a panicked throng. They were a rippling mass of grey that zigzagged about, knocking down others like they were nine-pins, and Jane dared not lead Swanson through them, choosing instead to arc around. The shape burst through the other side of the crowd in no time, and when Jane saw them push up against the door of the castle she urged her good steed faster. They had slipped into the castle by the time Jane reached the doors herself, sliding off of Swanson and yanking them open as hard as she could.

The intruder had not escaped to some dark corner or fled into the grass corridor, they had not sought to wreck the throne room in any way, but they did stand with their back to the door before the pair of empty thrones, hands resting on their hips and head tilted. They did not jump when the door slammed shut behind Jane, or turn when she strode forward, steps echoing around them. No, it was Jane who stilled when the intruder spoke up, the quirk of their words pulling at the annals of her memory.

“You know, I gotta give credit where it’s due, guppy. You done pretty good for yourshellf.”

There was a turn of the heel and a yank at the throat of the cloak, and in a flourish a troll in rags stood before Jane, eyes white as the purest pearls and smile like a giddy shark’s. She knew that face on someone else, those horns atop another head, and the hand that held her old trident trembled.

“It’s you,” Jane whispered, the image of a briny hovel full of weapons sharp in her mind, “Meenah.”

The troll threw her head back and laughed. It was like the cackle of a wicked witch who had not yet matured. “Aw shit, so you DO remember!” She exclaimed, and she clapped her hands together. “I never get to see my clients after I pair ‘em with somefin! I always figure they don’t want nothing to do with do with me anemonemore, but it’s more likely they died swingin’. Good to see you bossed up instead!”

Meenah balked as Jane leveled her trident’s tines at the troll. “Don’t tell me you’re the one who’s supplied the ruffians terrorizing my citizens,” Jane said, “And don’t deny you’re not involved with them. They wear grey cloaks, and so do you.” It was a stretch assumption, relying on the certainty of Dirk’s sight at the gate, but it proved enough when the smile slid from the troll’s face, and she folded her arms in front of her chest.

“That is some serious profiling, guppy,” She drawled, eyelids lowered, “Shella rude.”

“But you’re not denying it.”

“No use denying what’s true.” Meenah shrugged, and Jane gripped her trident so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “But yeah, so I gave a couple motherglubbers some explosives. Water you gonna do aboat it, hmm?” She waggled her eyebrows, her mouth quirking up at the corners. “You gonna bring it, or are you gonna cop out like a beach-”

Jane lunged at the troll and brandished her trident, but as quickly as she acted Meenah reacted. The troll sidestepped her attack, and from the folds of her rags pulled out what looked to be a fork with a set of prongs on each end, but it grew bigger as Meenah drew it back, until she met Jane’s trident with one of her own in a fantastic clash of sparks. It was longer than either of them was tall, and Jane pulled away to attack again. Meenah met every strike, parrying with such force that she pushed the Princess back with ease. In no time at all Jane found the round table digging into her back, and in a flash her trident was sent spinning from her grasp. A tine came to rest just underneath her chin.

“Whale, whale, _whale_ ,” Meenah whispered. If her eyes held color and pupils, they would have twinkled as the crinkles around them suggested. “I expected you to be betta than that by now.”

Breath came in short bursts for Jane, and though she wished to scream and thrash, it would mean nothing if she did so. She was cornered, and though she was loathe to admit it, the intruder was in power. All she could do was press for answers. “Why are you doing this?” Jane asked, “Are you one of the anti-human trolls? What have we done to anger you so thoroughly?”

“You’re thinking awfully small-pond for a big fish,” The troll said, and Jane winced when the tine pricked her skin. “It ain’t what you’ve done that’s making everybody crabby! It’s just folks wisin’ up to the truth, and I ain’t glubbin’ Cherubs either.” After a lingering moment the trident pulled away, and Meenah pulled something new from her rags. It was a letter, sealed with white wax that held no imprinted insignia, just a perfectly round circle, and its envelope was crisp and clean. She pressed it into Jane’s chest, and did not pull away until the Princess reached up and took it. “Consider this an invitation, guppy. To the truth before Cherubs.”

The truth before Cherubs…it sounded ridiculous, but Jane did not tear up the letter or crush it into a ball as she should have. Her free hand itched for her trident. “And you decided to lead an attack on innocent people for your silly letter?” She asked. Meenah cackled again, nearly doubling over with glee.

“Of course not!” She said, and she reached into her rags once more. “I helped the party get that much betta! There’s no war without somefin big to fight about, right?”

War – the very word made Jane’s hair stand on end. There had been no talk of war in Prospit or Derse for years now, and both sides were determined to keep it that way. “Are you serious?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.

“What, is blowing up your hood not serious enough?” The troll pursed her lips. “Do I gotta poison the water supply? Burn your crops? Rain down some plague on all y’alls hives? Because that’d be a serious cramp of my style, I gotta say.” She began to back away, tines still aimed at Jane. “That ain’t nothin’ to rebuild Beforan on!”

Before Jane could say a word, Meenah tossed something to the ground with one fluid motion, cackling all the while. The throne room filled with smoke, and Jane brought her arms up to shield her face. The cackle faded, and as she coughed and sputtered, Jane could hear the great door creak open and shouts of surprise as the smoke billowed out. They must have thought there was a fire. They must be scared to bring the refugees inside.

“It’s alright! It’s safe in here!” Jane shouted, and as the smoke cleared to reveal no pearl-eyed trolls she hurried forward, snatching her trident from the ground to rally the people. Before anyone spotted it, she slipped the letter into the front of her dress, and as the injured were laid up and organized, she did not breathe a word of her encounter to anyone – not yet, at least. It wouldn’t do to rile anyone when there was so much to be done.

But she did not forget the letter was there. It seemed to burn her skin, and one question haunted her mind through the turbulent night:

What was Beforan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't feel like this chapter is especially strong? And I gotta admit, towards the end it became harder to write due to wavering interest - I know, I know, I was bored writing action, sue me. But it's setting the ball rolling for some pretty big stuff, as you can see! War, and a reappearance, a mysterious letter! All kinds of fun stuff.


	4. Beforan

There was simply too much to be done to go to sleep that night. The injured, the fires, veritable terrorists on the loose – these were more important to address than rest, and those who could still move and think would have to go without and grin through it, Jane included.

By sunrise, those in pain had been treated with ointments and bandages, and they had been adorned with blankets and pillows, made to be as comfortable as possible when the only place to be laid up was the floor. Reports from the town confirmed the conquering of the flames, as well as quite a bit of damage to the buildings, and without a thought Jane sent the workers from the castle down to them, shooing them away with their tools. It was much more important, she felt, that the people have their homes put together, that when they could pick themselves up they would have someplace warm and dry to return to. The castle could wait.

As for those responsible, along with the sun came Dirk, riding Maplehoof right through the front door. Soot covered both mare and King, but neither looked bothered, and behind them trailed three trolls in grey cloaks, linked by a rope that bound their hands. They snarled at any human who dared to approach, and gave scornful looks to their fellows. No one looked happy to see those who had caused them such trouble.

There was a beat of silence before Dirk cleared his throat. “I want these three brought to the dungeons, frisked, and locked up,” He said, “Even if we’ve only got one complete cell to put them in, bring me the closest approximation we have to a warden and ‘cuff these fuckers.”

“Y’ain’t got proof we’re the ones y’want!” One of the captive trolls shouted.

“I’ve got my own eyes,” Dirk said, and he did not turn to acknowledge them. “For now, that’s all I need.”

“Do you hear that?!” Another of the captives bellowed, “The King of Derse won’t even give us trial before jailing us! He sees our horns and judges our lives!”

The trolls in the crowd began to whisper, most with eyes rolling at the captives’ cries. It was still cause for concern, and Jane pushed herself through the crowds. “I really don’t have the energy for this today,” She heard Dirk said, “Hey Zahhak, I want you to bring these three down to the dungeon. Make sure they’re comfortable.”

“Making a troll do your dirty work! How dare you mock the plight of Beforan!” Screamed the third captive.

“Hit them if they annoy you,” Dirk added, and as Jane broke through the people she saw him hand the end of the rope to Equius. “Don’t even hold back. Pop ‘em right in the kisser.”

Equius bowed his head. “As much as I would like to follow your orders,” He said, “I am afraid I might…completely pulverize their skulls, were I not to hold back from my true strength. If it is agreeable to you, Your Majesty, if I must strike these…deplorable fiends…I would like to keep them relatively intact for whatever is you might have in store for them.”

“Whatever you want, man,” Dirk said, and he watched as Equius tugged the captives back out the door, towards where the cellar entrance waited. Only then did the crowds disperse and return to their duties, and only then did he turn to Jane. A weary smile graced his face. “Man. What a fucking night, huh.”

Jane wanted to embrace Dirk right then and there, and her hands trembled from the effort to keep herself at bay. But there were so many eyes on them, and despite the scorn of the crowds for the attackers, no one could be sure just who was on what side. It wouldn’t due to cause a scene, not when so many people were weary and tense. For now, Jane settled for the shape of Dirk’s eyes through his spectacles, and she nodded in return. “It’s…good to see you in one piece,” She choked out. “We were worried.”

“For me? Aw, nah, don’t trouble yourselves. They’re just a bunch of two bit punks.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked about the crowds, picking out the nobles that had begun to make their way towards him. “They say a lot of things though. Very interesting. If they actually elaborated on some of their points instead of waving around the only bone they’ve got to pick, it’d make resolving the whole situation a lot easier.” As the nobles came to his side, he held up his other hand. “But we’ve got real problems to fix, right? Talking can wait until everything’s on the mend.”

And that, at least for now, was the end of that. There was still so much to set right, and all desires, whether for respite or otherwise, had to be put aside until everything was on its way or those in charge began to drop like flies, whichever came first. All through the day, as the town began to pull itself together and the injured were transported back to the buildings that were still sound, Jane felt the prod of the letter in her bosom. Its sheer presence kept her going, for how could she rest if she did not know what sort of horrors it contained? What could be waiting for her in the text – a proper declaration of war? Slander and blackmail? A threat that the night was barely a taste of what would come?

But it would have to wait until night fell again, when all who were not noble had been returned to places where they could heal in comfort. Jane had collapsed in one of the chairs at the round table, and judging by the fading footfalls, her fellows had left for the cellar, where the servants of the castle had promised to set out something for them to eat. When she was certain she was alone, the letter was pulled out, and she examined it with eyes half-focused. It was warm to the touch and somewhat curved, but she opened it regardless and smoothed out the page.

It was because of her exhaustion that it took Jane a moment to realize that the page was completely blank. She blinked once, twice. She turned it over and flattened out the page again, but this side too held not word, not brush of ink. There was a crackle and fuzz building in her mind, and Jane squinted her eyes at the empty expanse.

The footfalls that approached were near silent, and she did not know that someone had come to join her at the table until a plate was set down with a thud beside her. She jumped, and a hand fell to her shoulder to keep her steady.

“Hey, easy. It’s just me.”

Jane turned to see Dirk beside her, and she blinked again as he moved closer, enveloping her in a slow, strong hug. After a moment she leaned into him, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders in turn. He gave her a little squeeze.

“Not gonna lie. I’ve been wanting to do this all day.”

She could have found it in her to chuckle, if she weren’t so tired, so Jane settled for a smile instead. “So have I.”

“You didn’t come down for food,” He said, more observation than anything. “I know we’re all running on fumes and everything feels fine, but if we don’t eat we’ll make ourselves sick really fast.” Dirk pulled back to sit, and he pushed the plate closer to her. “I brought enough to share, if you’re down for that.”

“That’s very sweet. Thank you.” There wasn’t much to Jane’s voice, but she _was_ grateful. She plucked a cookie from the plate and examined it. “But do they really only have sweets? That’s not very substantial.”

“It’s better than not eating anything at all,” Dirk said with a shrug, and he took one for himself, eyes flickering to the blank paper on the table. “What’s that?”

“- _Oh!_ ”

The cookie fell from Jane’s fingertips as her whole body sprang to awareness. The memory of clashing tridents and milky eyes flashed in her mind, and she slammed her hands down on the table. Dirk didn’t even flinch.

“I’m sorry,” Jane began, “I should have told you this morning – I haven’t told anyone, we’ve been so busy! I didn’t want to make anyone upset in front of the citizens, I-”

“Whoa, _Jane_.” Hands came to rest on her shoulders and pushed her back into her chair. She hadn’t even noticed how she had hunched over. “Take deep breaths, okay? Take it slow. Whatever it was you should’ve told me, it’s okay to tell me now.”

“You’ll get mad-”

“I’m not gonna get mad. Keeping the peace is always the right thing to do.” He smiled gently. “We can raise as much hell as we like when nobody’s looking. So feel free, alright? What’s up with the paper?”

Dirk didn’t press again, and he waited as Jane composed herself. As he listened to her recount the chase and the encounter with Meenah, his smile slowly faded from his face, and by the end he too was staring at the blank paper with an air of frustration about him.

“-And do you want to know the strangest thing out of all of it?” Jane asked, “I’ve met that troll only once before, when I got my trident before coming on the march all those years ago. I noticed it then, and it still confounds me now. This Meenah looks exactly like…like Feferi.”

She saw his hands clench into fists on his lap. “You’re sure it’s our Feferi she looks like? Not some other one?”

“We only know of one Feferi,” Jane said. “And I certainly don’t think it was actually her. While it’s not a stretch to change one’s diction, there were some physical things that couldn’t be faked. Meenah has these very thin, very long braids. You can’t condense all of Feferi’s hair into braids like that, it’s impossible. There’s too much volume.” She paused. This agitated Dirk, that someone so suspect could slip into the place they wanted so badly to make a home out of, and she wondered if there was anything she could say to ease his mind. “I’ve seen a troll’s double once before. It was…when I worked for _him_.” He winced, just subtly, though she had not even spoken the name of their tormentor aloud. “ _He_ …had a mistress whom I also had to serve, named Lady Damara.  She looked just like Aradia, but she had the funny eyes like Meenah does. I don’t know if she’s still alive somewhere, but I swear she’s real, cross my heart…!”

Dirk’s hands did not relax. If anything, he looked grimmer. “I don’t doubt you’re telling the truth,” He said, “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Evil trolls that look like members of my court are the last thing I expected to dick around with my life.” Jane could almost feel his glare pierce through his spectacles, burning holes into the paper before him. “Is this thing she gave you some kind of joke? Because I’m not laughing. I am far from laughing.”

“Don’t you think I’m upset too?” Jane asked, and she threw her hands into the air. “I want an explanation other than a nautical pun and all this Beforan malarkey! I want to find who’s responsible and…and…”

“Drive a pike through their head and display it at the gate? Or have it presented to you on a platter?”

“Maybe if we were a tad less civilized!” It was then that Jane slumped over, her arms and head coming forward to cover the paper. “I hate this. I thought I’d have all the answers I’d need so we could plan something – a defense, or a counter attack, to nip this right in the bud before anyone else got hurt!” Dirk shifted beside her, and somehow, she knew what he was about to say. He would ask if she was giving up, if she had been so easily bested both in combat and in wit, and Jane tensed at his intake of breath. As frustrated as she was, it did not mean she was throwing in the towel just yet. It would just be a little harder, is all.

But before Dirk could say a thing, those grand doors slammed shut, cutting off a draft that Jane had not noticed before. Footsteps rushed forward, and a torrent of questions fell upon the pair.

“Jane, what do you mean somebody got into the castle-”

“Bro, what the fuck, are you seriously suspecting Peixes of treason-”

“How come nobody invited _me_ to the awesome duel? Soooooooo not cool of you-”

“Somebody should get Karkitty and Kananyan-”

This and more came from the partial courts of Prospit and Derse, who crowded around Jane and Dirk, all edging for a glimpse of the mysterious blank paper. Jane could barely keep track of who went where; she had a vague sense of the great doors opening and closing once more. “Whoa, hold on a second-”

“When were you gonna tell us something happened, huh?!” Jade exclaimed, snatching the paper from the table. She waved it in Jane’s face with pure abandon, and the Princess watched, horrified, as it just missed the snatching fingers of the others, every brush a risk for it to be ripped or crumpled. “This stuff is really important!! What if you were injured and tried to shrug it off, you could be in a lot of trouble right now!”

“Jade, please-”

“Nuh-uh, don’t give me that-”

Before the two could even begin their argument, another hand came out from the crowds and took the paper. It was Gamzee who had it now, towering over the other trolls as he held the slip by his thumb and forefinger with wide eyes and an unreadable expression. It stilled them all, though they were not sure why.

“Now hold up, Jadesis,” Gamzee said, his voice all gravel and whisper. “This here caught the light something strangelike, but if you keep flapping it around like a cluckbeast, how’s a brother about to check it out, huh?”

They were quiet as Gamzee took the paper by opposing corners, and he held it up to the light above them. It was faint, but the longer the light shone on the paper, the clearer Jane and everyone could see a single word emblazoned in shadow:

MAGNETS

There was a collective gasp, and something snapped in Jane. She stood up. “Does anyone have a magnet?”

“No need to ask, Little Princess,” Gamzee said. He pushed himself to the edge of the table and placed the paper down between the monarchs, and from the inside of his sleeve he pulled something dark, about the size of a snake’s rattle. “Those of us what be down with the clown always got one of these wicked miracles on us at all times. Y’all never know when you’ll be up and gettin’ something the sender ain’t want just any motherfucker’s gander bulbs on.”

No one dared ask just what sort of things Gamzee and his fellows wanted to keep secret – and no one dared crack a joke about it. It was odd to see this troll without his lazy smile, and as he rubbed his magnet along the paper in easy strokes, he was solemn and eerie. As he rubbed, the paper itself turned a deep green, and what looked like scratched etchings formed into white, white words, every line exact and crisp.

At some point the doors behind them opened again, and the remaining members of the court entered, gathering at the edge of the group just as Jane picked up the paper yet again. Even Rose and Terezi had come, both bleary-eyed and pale, but they too listened as the Princess turned to face them and read the contents of the letter aloud:

**To the Royal Families and Courts of Prospit and Derse,**

**My sincerest greetings and salutations to you all – if this was more than just a letter, I would shake each of you warmly by the hand. A bit odd, yes, but if I am anything, I am an excellent sportsman, and wish to begin this game with my best foot forward.**

**You may have noticed my use of the word ‘game’, and are surely wondering what that could mean. As you are no doubt aware, a select group has decided to declare war on your kingdoms, and have extended that offer through a particular bombastic engagement.**

**Why, you ask? Why is simple.**

**They are dissatisfied with your rule. ‘They’ are trolls who have toiled under your oppression all their lives, watching their fellows suffer under your whims and have kept their tongues bitten all the while. They did not know of the glorious past of their race, the power they once held in these lands over the humans that roamed the forests and plains long before the Cherubim arrived. I have gathered them, and reminded them of that history, the glory of the Ancient Empire known as Beforan.**

**It is no stretch to say they are angry. Under my twelve Generals, they have agreed to march into battle to take back what belongs to them. About the Ides of each month an army led by one of the Generals will appear on the mountain you have placed your citadel against, and they will ride whether you choose to meet them or not. It is in your best interest if you at least make an attempt to defend yourselves. If not, I cannot speak for the safety of the citizens who have made their home here.**

**The terms of war are simple. Only those of your number who practice the same Esoteric Art as the approaching General will be allowed to ride against them with their own army. All others will be swiftly disposed of. If you can best each of my Generals, I shall admit defeat, but if even one remains, we will fight until you have all been laid to waste.**

**You will be given notice of the Art of the General before each battle. The first is Time.**

**Until the Ides,**

**The Benefactor of Beforan**

That title rung out through the throne room and sent all around Jane and Dirk ashiver. No one dared to speak, no one breathed more than faintly, no eye flickered to meet another. The letter shook, and what broke the silence was its crinkling in Jane’s grasp.

“What is Beforan?” She asked. No one answered. “ _What_ is _Beforan_?” She asked again, louder, stronger. “What sort of empire was it that drives folks to such acts – what glory could it have if it no longer exists? Who is this fellow that takes its name, what claim can they lay to war?!”

“Jane, calm down-” Dirk began, and she turned to him and glared.

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me to…you must be as angry as I am, you have no right-”

“Of course I’m angry, I’m fucking livid!” He took her by the shoulders and clenched his teeth. “But screaming isn’t going to get us any answers. Please, be calm. Please.”

He led her in slow breaths, rubbed her shoulders in front of the others with no shame, though they did not pay the monarchs any mind. They volleyed many of the same concerns, and soon enough two trolls were pushed to the forefront, both increasingly irritated with the interrogation of their fellows.

“Bein’ a Royal Historian doesn’t mean I know-w exactly w-what Beforan ewen is – hey, w-watch the cape-”

“Coming across something in documents doesn’t equal being an expert, you nookmunch, what kind of logic is spewing from your thought sphincter to get that kind of conclusion-”

Karkat and Eridan’s bickering was just colorful enough to pull Jane from her rage. It was still there, broiling and seething and untamable, but for answers she could cap it for that moment, pretend that she, like Dirk, could condense it into an ice-cold determination. She turned to them. “You two know something of Beforan?” Jane asked, and they clammed up immediately.

Eridan was the first to clear his throat. “Uh, w-well, it’s not much,” He said, “I’we just seen it mentioned a couple times in some first-hand accounts from our Ancestors. Old terms for landmarks, brief mentions a battles, stuff like that.”

“That’s all I’ve seen too,” Karkat said, “But from the way it’s mentioned, I always assumed it was from some sort of ancient story wigglers were told when they were put into their slime for the day. I know it’s a stretch to call something hilariously fake-sounding when we’ve all got weird, universal law-breaking powers and have been simultaneously revived in a sick, cyclical process that boils down to Divine temper tantrums, but they were tales that were way too tall to be credible. I think this whole thing is ludicrous.”

“Well obviously someone’s found evidence to the contrary,” Terezi said.

“Not only that, but they find that evidence pertinent enough to make a move towards war,” Rose added, “Which, if I’m not mistaken, took place while I was indisposed, and no one has taken care to get either myself or Lady Pyrope up to speed.”

As the group began their chatter anew, everyone talking over each other to regale their Seers with the story, Jane grimaced, and she could feel Dirk tense beside her. “I don’t think we’re going to make any decisions tonight,” She said, “And I’m aware we’ve got to make one soon. Legitimacy of our foe or not, there’s been measures taken against us.”

“And if that letter’s telling the truth, these guys won’t hesitate to wreck our shit if we decide to ignore them,” Dirk said. “Nobody will stomach inaction on our part. Not even ourselves.”

“So you’re saying we’ve got to go to war against these people? We’ve no choice?”

He frowned, just slightly, only enough for Jane to see. “If we weren’t backed into a corner like this, I’d say they could go fuck themselves. But if we don’t fight, they’ll use that and twist every troll in our kingdoms against us because of it. We’ll be banished, or scattered, or assassinated – because if you rankle enough lions, they’ll give chase, and they _will_ catch you. We need to be strong in this and we need to defend what’s right.” Hesitantly, Dirk squeezed her shoulders, and his eyes flickered to their rowdy courts before he pulled her just the slightest bit closer. “Will you ride with me, Jane?”

There was so much to Dirk’s words there, and Jane nearly forgot to breathe. He wanted her beside him in this fight – he asked Prospit to fight with Derse, and not just assumed they would, even if the attack was on both of them. He was giving her a choice, like he had always given choices, and he could very well be playing her – but even if that was so, they were both in danger. If they were together, they could at least protect each other, and hopefully come out unscathed.

Jane looked out to the court. Her mind swirled with explosions and prophecies and their opponent, shrouded in smoke and mystery, and it made her chest ache. She turned back to Dirk.

“I…yes. I’ll ride.”

And thus began the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note - the plot's gonna come heavy and fast from here on out, and I'm going to try and make these chapters longer, but they'll definitely cover more in-story time than they usually have. I might try a different format with it too? I'm not sure. I'll figure it out as I go. :B


	5. Tiktok

_Aradia was three sweeps old when the Lord began her lessons. The others cowered from him openly, but not her, not ever. When his gaze turned to her she would stare right back, head cocked, breath slow as his very presence sent terror coursing through her veins. It was the only way she knew to combat it, by putting that distance between herself and his awful claws._

_Perhaps he had mistaken it for bravery on her part. One day, he presented Aradia with a thin book, maroon with a cog on the cover, colored red – no, perhaps more a blood orange to a discerning eye. When she asked him exactly what color it was he snarled. “It’s_ red _,” He said, “Do not ask me. Such foolish questions. It reflects badly on a pupil.”_

_And that was how it started, afternoons in Derse’s castle library with Lord Caliborn and his stilted diction, guiding her through the spirographs of Time. It came to her quickly, and soon Aradia could hear seconds thrum in her blood, soon she could halt butterfly and ant and beetle with a wiggle of her fingers. She entertained the others this way, and they were entranced by her apparent mastery, eager to get their hands on books and Arts of their own._

_She was expected in the library on a crisp autumn day, and though it pained her to tear away from the piles of beautiful leaves she did it anyway, clutching the thin book to her chest like a lifeline. As Aradia approached the big doors to the library they slammed open, and she flinched, expecting the Lord to appear and rave like mad at her tardiness. Instead, one of the small humans was tossed into the hallway – they were all pale all over, so she did not know which one it was immediately._

_“INSOLENT BOY,” The Lord bellowed, “ASSUMING YOU CAN. BARGE IN WHERE YOU PLEASE! I AM EXPECTING MUCH MORE PLEASING COMPANY!!” The door slammed in his face, and she crept closer, watching in fascination as he pushed up a pair of blackened spectacles and wiped at clear tears. These humans, they were so strange._

_“Stupid dumb butt,” The boy said in a sniffle, “Doesn’t know – doesn’t know the best when it’s standing right in front of him. Fuck him.”_

_“What’s a fuck?” Aradia asked. The boy jumped, and he turned to her. Before his spectacles fell into place, she saw a flash of red, narrowing eyes, and her mind clicked. This was the Dave human._

_There was a pause. “I dunno,” He said, “I heard a grown up say it.”_

_“It sounds silly,” She said, and he frowned and crossed his arms._

_“Whatever.” Dave jerked his head to the door. “You’re who he’s waiting for, right? Better get in there before he gets so mad he poops himself. Then we’ll_ never _hear the end of it.” He slumped forward and stuck his tongue out, and she laughed at the display. Her hold around her book loosened._

_“That’d be a lot of fun to watch, though! He gets really crazy when he’s mad!” Aradia grinned. “It’s kind of like…watching a jester in the middle of his act fall down a flight of stairs!”_

_The little boy cocked an eyebrow, a gesture a bit old for his face. “Nobody warned the jester about those stairs?” He asked, “Nobody’s calling down to him that they told him so? He should know better.”_

_“He’s not a real jester, he’s a pretend one!”_

_“But you said he fell down the stairs!” When his mouth turned up in a laughing smile, Aradia rolled her eyes._

_“Are you trying to get my goat? I don’t even have a goat to get!” She reached out and took one of Dave’s hands, tugging him away from the library. “Look, I’ll ‘splain it to you about the fake jester, okay? I don’t care if Mister Caliborn gets mad at me later. I’ll just bring him an apple and he won’t get mad. Apples’re his favorite.” There was a sudden spark in her mind, and she turned back to Dave and smiled. “Hey! Maybe he’ll do what you want if you give him some? I know where they are in the kitchen!”_

_They were halfway down the hall when he finally smiled back. “Lead the way, Keeper of the Apples,” He said._

_Though Time did not yet bind them, this was the beginning of the friendship of Derse’s Time Buddies._

~*~

It was known by dawn of the next day by all the townspeople, and the knowledge crept ever further as messengers and heralds spread the news – Prospit and Derse had joined hands to fight those who had tried to do their people harm. Swaths of armies were gathered from the capitols, responding to the call of their Lords and Ladies, while some stayed behind and spread out through the kingdoms to guard the citizens. After all, in a war such as this, it was important to make sure everyone was safe. The enemy was not trusted to keep their wrath to the mountain in the center of the Scratchlands, though for that mountain to become such an epicenter made Jane uneasy. If she let her mind wander she could feel the Life within her thrum to a tune on the tip of her tongue, and the haze of years cleared to the flashes she had seen when she had traversed its depths. To choose such a battlefield was suspect. Just how far did this Benefactor’s knowledge reach?

There was, of course, no way to answer that, but nothing impeded them from searching for their own answers. Being the Royal Historian of Derse, the job fell to Lord Ampora on a unanimous vote – there was too much to be done for everyone to try looking, and as he so put it, “None a you know-w how-w to cross reference a coddamn thing. You all might as w-well be a bunch of pan-fried peasants.”

Most days, too, though there were soldiers to sort and recruits pouring in every day eager to vanquish their enemies, General Vantas would join him. No one knew what prompted him, and when asked he would not tell, only grimace and shoo the questioner away as he grumbled about shoddy translations – of all the things he could grumble about! As if there were a shortage of things to be done, as if splitting the work twenty ways did anything to lighten the load. There was the town’s restoration to oversee as well as the influx of soldiers and their training, tactics and fittings for clothes suitable for war, a sitting for that painting Dirk was so adamant to have, and the cherry on the top of it all, at least for Jane, was her coronation.

As busy as things were, it was still a thing that absolutely, positively was going to Happen, an event worthy of capital letters. Jane had expected to be on her way back to Prospit by now, and as such there were a great deal of things already prepared for it. The invitations to various dignitaries had been sent and responded to, the décor chosen, every article of clothing for herself and her family and court perfected down to the last stitch, and it all laid in wait for her in the west. It was more a sick anticipation than anything.

She had put aside all mysteries, all thoughts of engagement, and tried to shrug off the impending weight of the crown by diving headfirst into preparations, days rolling on through the chill and mild, cloudy hours spent at the round table strewn with papers and collapsing in the caravans at night when exhaustion made them too stupid to speak. Many of them she spent with Dirk, for they were equivalents as heads of state, and as such had to approve most decisions together. It was not as exciting or as fun as it seemed, but the planning between them had its own kind of intimacy. Sweet words were in short supply in the wake of talk of blood yet to be spilt, but there was much to be said for a tired sigh or the creak of a chair as its occupant sat back, for the brush of fingertips on fingertips as paper and quill changed hands. They worked in sync, pushing the bureaucracy of war into motion as only a leader can. Some days Jane would have to remind Dirk that he had to eat, and some days he would remind her. More often than not they both had to be reminded, whether by a passing member of their courts or by their fretting families.

It was strange, Jane thought, that war involved so many orders and papers before a single weapon could be raised. But she knew it was necessary. Except for the parameters of the Benefactor’s letter, there was no precedence for this fight. Neither of them had fought a real war before, the circumstances of their meeting notwithstanding, and they had to prepare for anything.

As the days became weeks, the tiny town at the foot of the domed mountain was transformed. The restoration was quick in the hands of the workers, for though they would tire they would not give in, and soon the damaged houses were as good as new, or better. Another wall was begun on the perimeter of the town, something that would become tall and strong in time. The locals were eager to learn to defend themselves with what they had lying about, and understandably so – no one wanted a repeat of the attack, and if they could nip it in the bud, the town itself would be that much safer. Even so, with all the bustling and efforts a palatable tension hung in the air, and no one was above a bit of anxiety.

But none was said to be more pensive than those whose souls belonged to Time, and Dave the most. He worked as hard as the others, as nigh tirelessly, but there was something in him that made him linger long after he should have moved on. It was as if the world around him moved too quickly, and if he took his time he could really make his actions matter. That was only how it _seemed_. It would not be Jane who found the truth, or even Dirk as his brother, though he would have liked to know it; they worked apart, but even he knew there was so much more to Dave than just what he showed on the surface. Dirk taught him how to conceal, after all. No, it would be…someone else.

They had been working towards the oncoming war for a couple of weeks now, and the new month had begun, air sweet with the promise of spring. Dave had alighted to the grass corridor, and he sat with his back against the wall where the empty picture frame hung. With his spectacles on, it looked as if he stared out into nothing, but his concentration was somewhere, for he had a hand to his cheek, the one that sported a thin scar. It was barely noticeable on first glance – at least, if he had taken care to shave. If not, it stood out like a red flower in a green field, slightly raised and shiny, where no hair dared to grow. He remembered receiving it with startling clarity, and though he was lost in the memory he still could hear the soft crunch of footfalls on the grass, how a horned shadow fell upon him when they stopped. The pair breathed in perfect sync as only those who know every second in intimacy can do.

“You know what’s funny?” Dave asked aloud, “And I mean it this time, it’s some serious bust-a-gut laughter stuff. It’s worth guffawing at until you can’t breathe and you’re lying prone and helpless on your bed, wheezing as the giggles keep spurting from you like you’re some new age laughter fountain and your friends think they’ve broken you. I will tell you exactly what’s funny.” He turned to her and, when noticing her puzzled expression, cracked a hollow grin. “Aradia. I’m him. I’m that crazy bastard from the future who cut off Caliborn’s head. I’m the guy who put everything on the line for us to get to this point, and every day that passes makes me a little more like him. I wouldn’t forget that face. It stares back at me in the mirror. It says, Wow, you almost doomed me, you little shit.” He turned away again, the grin sliding from his face. “Now I wonder if it would’ve been better to be doomed.”

Aradia edged closer, taking a seat next to Dave on the grass. “Don’t say things like that. We both know how terrible things become when you doom a timeline.”

“We know it in _theory_ ,” He clarified. “We know what every insufferable prick and plucky maroon maiden has sat around supposing after daring each other to go fuck around with the timeline and finding themselves too chicken-shit to try. We don’t know the particulars, and frankly, I don’t think I’m ready to find out. I…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not ready to be that asshole. I’m not.”

Silence stretched between the two, and both knew, unconsciously, how long it lasted, down to the tiniest fraction of a moment. That was their bond, and that was why Dave could tell her these things; Aradia could hear the tik-tok of the clock just as clearly as he; she could understand the weathering of the world in a touch or glance, for they would not have survived if they had not developed their skills as such. They knew where the fragile thread of Time led, and as such, they must always be one step ahead.

Finally Aradia spoke, slow and with ease. “Maybe it’s not a question of being ready…but of who you need to be, and who you need to become.” She leaned a little closer to him, her bushy curtain of hair slipping down over her shoulder. “You want to protect what we have now, right?”

He did not turn to meet her gaze, carding a hand through his hair instead. “Well, yeah, it’s not so bad.” Dave did not flinch when Aradia’s eyes narrowed, but he must have felt them on him. “Alright, fine. It’s better. It’s a lot better. It’s like living your whole life dropping every shitty ice cream cone you’ve ever been given and then suddenly having the money to buy a banana split every day for the rest of your life, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever put in your dick sucking mouth. I’m not even a bananas guy, but like hell would I wanna go back to dropping cones and getting no ice cream at all. There is no five second rule when it comes to that shit. You can try, I mean, if you want to risk getting dirt and bugs in your mouth, but ice cream barely qualifies as a solid. It’s not a liquid either. It’s like…a soquid.” At this point Aradia rolled her eyes, but she let Dave continue. “I’m pretty sure the germs just spread throughout upon impact, like how coffee changes color when you put in the dairy product of your choice. But really slowly. It’s still not worth the risk. You’re gonna end up with some weird exotic disease because you slurped up floor cones and everything will end up worse. You’ll be laid up in the hospital thinking, when did this become my life? Why did this become my life? Fuckin’ incredible, man.” He paused and coughed. “Uh, so yeah. I’d fight for my right to a banana split.”

“So maybe future you saw it as less of a fight for your right, and more of a fight for a necessity.” Aradia frowned. “Though I don’t think banana splits are necessary for life.”

“No way, banana splits are completely necessary.” She nudged his shoulder and he chuckled, smiling quite freely in her presence.

“You know what I mean, you big dope,” Aradia said, “Stop looking at it like you have to measure up to something and just let it happen. Whatever you’ve got to learn, you’ll learn. You’re not going to just change in an instant – and besides!” Nimble fingers darted forward to pull off Dave’s dark spectacles. He lunged for them at first, bright red irises still boyishly wide, but Aradia held them high above her head, and he made no move to stand and take them. “Maybe what past you thought of future you could be wrong. After all, we’re supposed to be wiser now that we’re older, right?”

She smiled, and without the shade of his spectacles Dave could see a fair amount of details that he usually ignored. He noticed the beginning of wrinkles around the corners of Aradia’s eyes, the briefest flash of graying roots that she had once told him were such a pain to hide. Trolls, he knew, while similar to humans in many ways, were also vastly different. Lifespan was just one thing, and…

It was hard, to know just how quickly a friend’s clock spun compared to yours.

Dave settled back on his haunches and held his face as well as he could, though his body seemed to deflate when Aradia slid the spectacles back into place. “You don’t get to pull that card,” He said quietly, “We’re the same age, whether you count it in sweeps or years.”

“But isn’t it how much life you live in those years that really counts to wisdom?” Aradia asked, and Dave was at a loss for what to say.

~*~

It was supposed to be different, this day. Really it was. For one, Jane had hoped it would be happy, completely free of stress or fear. She had hoped it would lead to a bright and beautiful future for herself, for her people, for everyone. There was supposed to be a weight to it, but also an air of celebration. A coronation was, after all, a momentous occasion, happening only once to a Princess of Prince. But as her birthday approached, Jane held nothing but mounting dread within her.

They had planned, of course, in the face of recent events. Though it danced so close to the ides of the month, the others felt that they could leave the castle in the Scratchlands for the coronation, and return that night after showing face at the ball that followed with little issue. Jade and Kanaya were more than ready to pop the lot of them back and forth, both confident in their prowess and growth in Space over these years to do so in one fell swoop and with every participants’ body parts in the right places. Jane had to go, of course, and her family and court were required to attend.

But they had more than just Prospit attending. Dirk too was catching their ride, and with him came his brother and cousins, leaving the Court of Derse in charge of the citadel.

“Relax, Jane, it’s only for a day.”

It seemed as if everyone had said that to her at least once, and in every rolling dialect of the Common tongue their eclectic group sported. If only it were enough to calm her quivering heart.

On the dawn of her birthday they spilled forth from the caravans to assemble on the greenery before the castle. No eye was not bleary, no footstep light, save for Jade and Kanaya, who had made the effort to rouse themselves proper in order to concentrate. The other trolls glared back at the caravan of their Dersite peers, very transparently jealous of the fact that _they_ got to sleep until a respectable hour. But no matter how grumpy they were, no matter how badly Jane felt herself shake to her very core, all were made to clasp hands, and in barely a crackle or whiff of ozone the whole lot disappeared as if they had never been to begin with.

For all it boasted of gold and light, the sunrise in Prospit seemed dimmer than it had been at the Scratchlands, though there was no time to pause and wait for its rays to catch up with them. When they alighted in the courtyard the servants of Prospit’s castle came upon them with insistence and ushering, and while the royalty of  Derse could hold a hand up and politely decline offers of help, showing clothes they had brought to wear for the ceremony and assuring them all that yes, they could do everything up themselves, buttons and laces weren’t hard – it could not be said for the native court and royals. Despite any protests they were dragged off to their quarters to be made ready for the coronation, and none more fervently than Jane – she was less bathed and more nearly scrubbed raw and scalded red, and once dried she was fitted into her dress.

Prospit’s traditions when it came to clothes were nothing like the bustles and frills and petticoats of Derse. No, here there were clear lines and snug fits and yards upon yards of embroidered silks. First came a white dress stitched with cyan designs, swirls and patterns that had looked pleasing to Jane on the bolt, but now she was far too flustered to notice if they matched up to each other or not. Around her waist was wound a very fine shawl, gold and dripping with beads; its end hung gracefully over one of her shoulders and floated behind her as she walked. The shawl was Jane’s favorite part, for parts of the design had been made with impossibly thin strands of silk, giving the illusion of translucence. Upon that in heavier threads had been stitched flowers in swirling sprouts, and altogether it had to be the finest thing Jane had ever worn. All that was missing was her crown – but that would come later.

She knew, in turn, that her family and court would also look their best. John was the only other person allowed to wear mostly gold, and upon his long jacket many curling lines had been embroidered in rich blue, reminiscent of gusts of wind and wispy illusions. Jake would have a jacket of similar cut, emerald green with gold trimmings, and Jade would wear something similar to Jane, though without a shawl and with much more of an unusual and electric lime. The trolls had all insisted on black, of course, and all but Kanaya had taken to trousers and long coats like John and Jake, with only white trim and a sash in the color of their choosing tied neatly around their waists. Jane fully believed they would at least _appear_ well-groomed and organized, but in the wake of their latest threat she wondered if it made them stern and frightful, a dark cut of cloth that loomed before the coming dignitaries and assuming an air of ill intent. She wondered if it painted Kanaya a target for their focus, who had opted for a jade dress with lace and bows and other such accessories more fitting a Lady of Derse. She would look much less alien, attracting those who thought themselves brave for speaking to one of her kind – but perhaps that was her intention all along? To become a flame that drew moths, and as such prove to those who looked down their noses at the Trolls that there was nothing worth sneering or fearing about them?

Ah, it boggled the mind, these trims and trappings of fashion and their significance. What a silly game of symbols it all was, worth far less trouble than it caused, and all for one day! Was it really necessary when a bit of chatter and happenstance were all one needed to get to know someone new? Whoever had decided on the whole affair, well – they were probably dead, and Jane could wish all the little misfortunes in the world on them, but it wouldn’t do her any good. She still had to put up with it.

Once Jane had been fitted into her clothes, she was left to rest in her quarters before the ceremony. It would not occur until later in the morning, timed to allow for a luncheon once it had finished, and then the celebration proper would last long into the night. She could find no rest or giddy anticipation in any of it, and sat by her window and watched as carriages pulled into the palace courtyard, bringing emissary after emissary. Even at this height, there were a fair amount of folks that she recognized from Dirk’s coronation, and several from her own attempts at making connections, all precarious endeavors at best.

Jane found her thoughts turning to the citadel in the Scratchlands, or rather the mountain it had nestled beside and the secret that hid within it. Had her past selves felt like this when they ascended to the throne, not the least bit happy and full of trepidation? Had they ever tried to know those in foreign lands, only to be thwarted by a Cherub whose intentions were at once damning and mysterious? It was not the first time she wondered how things had gone for the other Janes before their inevitable demises, nor would it be the last; she felt juxtaposed to them, eleven lives of lies which hers sat atop as one triumphant and true-

A knock at the door jolted the Princess from her thoughts. “Jane? It’s time.”

She felt something sink within her. Jane tried sighing, to see if that might calm her. It did not.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

With a grace only the anxious could wield, Jane rose and opened her door. Before her stood John, who beamed until she reached forward to do the top button of his jacket that he had so stubbornly left undone. “Hey, cut it out!”

“And have you looking like a slob? Not a chance.”

He snickered, and that was how she knew her fussing was forgiven. John walked with her to where the stairs began, and he held a hand out for Jane to stop before he peered down.

“Everybody’s seated in the throne room,” He said, “And I’m supposed to go down the stairs fist and get to where the actual thrones are, and then you come down. So, just watch from here, I guess.” He looked back to her with a touch of concern. “Are you okay? You look kind of pale.”

“Do I?” Jane brought a hand to her cheek. She did not want him to worry about her, not now. “Perhaps it’s the makeup?”

John rolled his eyes and turned back below. “Well, just in case you’re nervous, which I’m not saying you are, don’t let it get to you. You just have to walk downstairs, put a crown on, cut your birthday cake, and then we can go back to fighting a war.” John brought his hand up and signaled, and there was barely a beat before a trio of trumpets blared below. He looked back to Jane once more. “Good luck,” he said with a wink, and then he began his descent. Jane stood just out of sight and watched him go, taking care in his steps as all turned their eyes to him. It seemed like nothing to John, to go to the head of this mass of people and not flinch under the weight of their gazes. How did he keep so cool?

She would have wondered, if the trumpets had not sounded once more, and those hundreds of pairs of eyes did not move up the top of the staircase, their owners standing to attention. They awaited her. It was finally time, and so, she stepped into sight.

The crowd held its breath for Jane, though in truth she did not notice. Everything within her concentrated only on her next step, desperate not to stumble or fall, if only because it would be a long and painful trip down. Reaching the ground brought with it a small boost of confidence, and she finally looked up proper – the crowd was so much more overwhelming when she was closer, like towering sentinels who judged her every move. As much as the presence of so many dignitaries was a kind reciprocation, there was always the chance that the majority of them were simply waiting to see how she might fail, how Prospit could falter and fall into ruin in her hands. The thought sparked a bit of defiance in her, and as she strode down the aisle she held her head high, back straight, shoulders set. The crowds leaned back as she approached, and though she felt their eyes on her she did not acknowledge them. For now her sights had set on John, who brightened as he realized how her demeanor had shifted, and he gave her a subtle thumbs-up. Jane smiled when she saw it.

As she approached the front, Jane met many familiar faces, and their presence alone eased her considerably. There was her court of course, seated at the front on the left, the only trolls in the crowd, and if that bothered them, they did not seem to give a good goddamn. Someone – possibly Kanaya, though Jane doubted she had done the job herself if she valued her life – had decided the boys should slick their hair back. Karkat looked particularly miserable, while Tavros did not look much different and Gamzee’s hair had also been pulled back in a small ponytail, if only to minimize the amount of flyaways that were already loosening themselves. The girls were relatively unchanged, though Vriska’s hair looked a bit more managed, and she somewhat irritated by the fact. To the right sat Jake and Jade, and the royals of Derse beside them. They wore amore Prospitian style of dress, though the colors were subdued – Rose and Roxy’s dresses were deep purple, and they had shawls of lavender and pink respectively, both with silver beads and embellishments, while Dave wore a shorter, purple version of her brother and cousin’s coat, the hems and cuffs and collar embellished with silver fabric and red beads.

At first she did not notice Dirk all the way on the other end, and bold as she felt, Jane turned her head as she passed the front, hoping for a glimpse. She ignored the soft titters of the crowd when she finally saw him, eyes meeting eyes. His brow bore the heavy crown of his station with ease, and the cut of his own jacket made his shoulders look quite broad; it too was purple, but it was more decorated than the others, swirls embroidered into the fabric that, were he to stand next to Jane they would perhaps look simplistic, but beside his family he quite blatantly stood out. He had an orange sash tied around his waist, so he could leave the jacket open, revealing a bit of white shirt underneath. All this Jane took in for that instant, and in that instant she had never thought him more handsome than in all the instants before.

He smiled just enough for her to notice, and she returned it in kind, her heart warm and buoyed up into her chest. Everyone she cared about may not be here with her, and there may be trouble ahead for her future, but she could relax, for in the presence and well-wishes of those she loved there could be peace. She could _do_ this.

She stood next to John when she reached him, and he cleared his throat with a touch more flourish than was necessary. The guests sat, and he stepped forward. There was a spring to John, a sparkle to his eye at the prospect of entertaining; Jane knew he had practiced this many a night, anticipating when he could ‘perform’, and though for the most part her contemporaries thought it a bit childish and, for lack of a better word, _dorky_ , there was an earnest charm to it that Jane could not deny him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” John began, “I’d like to thank you for coming to our ceremony today! It means a lot to us.” He held his hands behind his back and rocked subtly on his feet. “Our Crown Princess – my sister – is going to ascend to Queenship today, though you already know that, and she’s pretty much acted as Queen for as long as she’s been in Prospit anyway! Heheh, funny how that works, huh?”

She only wished he would be a touch more formal about it.

“Normally we’d have someone else giving this speech,” He continued, pressing on without a care, “But she’s not really around anymore, and that’s why we can have all of you here! But I’m sure she’d be very happy to know you all came.” John stopped rocking and turned to one side, holding a hand out to Jane. “Now if my sister would join me, we can begin and get to the cake, which I’m pretty sure is the part everyone wants to get to.”

There were a few chuckles peppered through the crowd, and many royals ducked their heads to conceal smiles behind hands and fans. Perhaps, Jane thought as she took John’s hand, there was something to his laxness.

From here on in, John recited an oath to Jane to the letter as it had been written in old notes Calliope had owned of past coronations. In it, she must swear her servitude and loyalty to the kingdom of Prospit, to its towns and valleys, its farms and forests, from the poorest beggar and youngest babe to its eldest folk and richest noble. She must promise her very life to protect them all, to put their needs before her own, and in return she would be given all that was necessary to do so at a moment’s notice – and she did swear and promise, head bowed as if meek, voice strong as a lion’s roar. He turned then to the trolls, who stood in turn as he called their name, and asked if they would swear their allegiance to Jane and to Prospit. The crowds paled at every title; indeed, could that firecracker of a fellow really be a General, or the invalid a Lord of the Fauna and Flora – could any troll no matter how well presented be a Foreign Ambassador, could the blind be a Supreme Magistrate, could the ferocious be a Mistress of Trade and the slovenly a Pontiff of Theological Affairs? But their disapproval only reflected on their own character, and though Jane stored it in her mind for later concern, she did not let it sour her expression now. After all, each troll affirmed their allegiance, and that was what really mattered, to both outsiders and their own people alike.

Then came Jake and Jade, standing and affirming their bond as the collective Duchy of Harley, and when they moved to leave their seats Jane knew to kneel, folding her hands on bended knee. Her cousins came forward and darted behind the thrones for a moment, and when they emerged, both carried a white cushion, upon which a golden circlet rested. It was simple and thin, bearing only one stone – a piece of larimar polished and set so it would fall in the center of her forehead. John took the crown in his fingertips, and the whole room hushed as he began to lower it.

“With all agreed and sworn,” He said, “May you be crowned Queen of Prospit…” The gold was cold on Jane’s skin, and though the circlet was light, she felt with it a heavy mantle that came to rest upon her heart. John’s hands moved away, and when he stepped back she took a deep breath and rose. “And may you bow to no one.”

The crowd erupted into applause, but it was only those of Prospit and Derse who broke out into gleeful hollering. Even the brief serious air John adopted broke, and he grinned and swept Jane up in the tightest hug he could give. That only brought the clamor around them to a joyous roar, something that deafened thoughts and awareness and it was okay, it was fine in that moment, for what could destroy it?

The answer to that was an echo of a sound – something one only thinks they have heard at first, too faint and out of place to really have happened. It floated into Jane’s awareness, a gentle tik-tok that danced on the shell of her ear, and something tugged her attention upwards. She pulled back from John and looked up…

Where her eyes looked others followed, and the applause died down as something red flashed into existence above her head. With a shriek she pulled John to the side just as the thing began to drop, and when it hit the ground the room was all ahush.

The thing was dark, and it had an awful lot of hair – but then it shifted, and Jane saw a familiar set of curled horns. Dirk and Dave must have seen them too, for they rushed forward from their seats before Jane could pull herself from John’s grasp.

After all, it wasn’t every day a member of the Dersite Court dropped in.

Dave had knelt down by her side, hands hovering as she propped herself up, and Dirk stood nearby, eyes narrowed and scanning the crowd. When Jane approached she shifted again, revealing the face of Aradia Megido behind that curtain of hair. She looked older than when Jane had seen her last, with deeper lines at the corners of her eyes and gray streaked in her knotted hair. But there was more to it than that; she had dressed in fine black silks that had been torn and dirtied, and a bruise bloomed on one side of her face

“Oh wow,” Aradia said softly, as the others came to see just what had appeared. “Oh wow. I did it – I really actually made it! And in one piece!”

A soft hiss of breath escaped through Dave’s clenched teeth. He took her by the shoulders. “You have gotta be fucking kidding me,” He said, “There’s – tell me you are fucking around, Megido. You’re from five minutes ago or something. You took the plunge and miscalculated the where, it’s cool, I won’t make fun of you for it-”

The guests had begun to grow louder, eyes hardening, the words ‘witchcraft’ and ‘troll demon’ thick on their tongues. Aradia paid them no mind, and she pulled herself from Dave’s grasp to stand, wobbling on her feet. “I’m sorry,” She said in a rush, “I know today is important, but it’s really important somewhere else, too, and they need you!” Aradia reached out and took Jane’s hands. “They need all of you! And if you don’t go back soon, everything is definitely doomed!”

Jane squinted her eyes at Aradia and squeezed her hands reassuringly. “What’s doomed? Who needs us? Maybe you should sit-”

“There’s no time for sitting!”

Aradia’s voice called out through the murmuring din, but she had not said a word. In fact, even she looked surprised, and everyone turned to the mouth of the throne room, where _another_ Aradia Megido stood, almost identical to the one before Jane. There was something off about her dishevelment, but the horns were unmistakable, and the guests balked from her. “What devilry is this?!?” One shouted. “Do you attempt to ensnare us in some fiendish plot with this ruse of a coronation?!”

The crowds rallied around this call and roiled in fear. Jane felt something close to fury harden inside of her, and she could see it reflect in the others. Even both Aradias looked peeved. “How – _dare_ you call this a ruse!” Jane exclaimed, “I have done nothing but be hospitable while you snub your noses at half of _my_ citizens-”

But she could not finish laying into the crowds, for another voice among them let out a shriek and pointed to the stairs that spiraled about the room. Another Aradia had appeared there, and more were coming, all different in some subtle way. Some were quite old, some had blood colors in varying shades, and one even had an eye patch. But they were all Aradia, in face and in symbol and in the curve of her horns. The guests cowered now, but all Jane felt was that she had to stand taller. She had to take charge. This was her kingdom, her castle, and it was in her hands.

“Aradia,” She said softly, looking to the one before her, “What in good gravy is going on…?”

The first Aradia frowned. She glanced about at her doppelgangers, becoming more crestfallen and shaken with every face. “…I can’t speak for them,” She said. “Not really. But I think we’ve all got the same general idea.” Slowly, Aradia met every eye that surrounded her. “With all of them here, I don’t know if I’m where you’re going to end up, but…there’s trouble. Back in the Scratchlands, the battle’s started. The Benefactor’s first General is leading an army down the mountain, and I’m trying to keep at least my timeline from being doomed. If I didn’t come back, you wouldn’t know, and we’d really be in trouble.”

Her words were quiet enough so they did not carry to the guests, who had been kept blissfully unaware of the situation to the east, but to those who did hear there was a collective flood of dread to their hearts. There was no reason not to doubt Aradia, no matter what time she hailed from, and it was not as if the last of their number who had time traveled had led them astray.

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Karkat hissed, “This isn’t the ides. We were told this guy was coming on the ides! Why is he not coming on the ides?!”

“’Cause that bastard played us for suckers!” Vriska said. Her one eye had gone wide and livid. “What the fuck was wrong with us, trusting a weirdo magnet letter? I bet he knew there wouldn’t be as much resistance there today if we were all here, and sent his lackeys to attack!” She slammed her mechanical fist into her open flesh palm. “Megido is right, we have to go back!”

“And leave just like that?” Roxy asked, crestfallen, “What about Janey’s party? And her cake!! I wanted some caaake…”

Forget the party, Jane wanted to say – and forget the cake too! It could fall to ruin for all she cared. But it was the other guests she had to worry about, growing loud and fearful and angry with every passing minute. They had to make a decision quickly, lest the entire throne room dissolved into riot. “Aradia,” She began, “We _have_ to go right now? You can’t just gather your doubles and zap us through to the right time?”

The troll shook her head. “Even if we all joined hands to send you, we’d just be creating more offshoots. There’s too many already, we need to solidify one line and protect it – and to do that, you’ve got to leave now, through Space!” Her expression softened for a moment. “I’m so sorry. I know this is important. I know that if you leave, you’re going to make a lot of people angry, I don’t even need to be from the future to see that. But it’s how the timeline goes, and I can’t afford to let there be more me’s who won’t have anytime to go back to.”

They were silent against the raucous crowd, all frustrated, all itching to be the one to step forward and go, but not a one spoke up. Not even Dirk, whom had always taken initiative, dared propose a thing. That was when it hit Jane, a thought so obvious she could have smacked herself for not thinking it sooner – they were waiting for her to make the call. They were in her kingdom, and she reigned as Queen, she could put her foot down and the others would have to follow. Even if her friends and family hadn’t sworn themselves to Prospit they would defer to her, for she did not have to shout her Queenship from the mountaintops, and in Derse, in Dirk, she had an unshakable bond. They were all friends, concerned with the welfare of each other and ultimately ready to do only what was right.

It was a heavy realization to bear, but Jane was strong. She had always had to be strong in the face of her troubles. She could be strong in this. Besides, what were they staying for? To curry the favor of people who had decided to scorn them once they saw their youth, their strength, their diversity and happiness? What was it even worth?

“We’ll go,” She said suddenly. “Cake be damned.”

None of the others were surprised, but Aradia looked overjoyed. She pulled Jane into a tight embrace. “Me and the other me’s will get these guys out of here for you,” She offered.

“There are party favors in the kitchen,” Jane said, “Do be sure to hand them out.” The girls parted, this Aradia rushing off to join the others and begin funneling away the guests. Jane turned to Jade and Kanaya. “Get everyone into position, if you please! We’ve got no time to waste!”

“Your Grace, what is going on?!” Another dignitary exclaimed as the Aradias began to break up the crowd. “We cannot simply be forced out without reason and by witchcraft, this is most unorthodox!!!!”

Jane made to step forward, though she was not sure what explanation she could give. That moment’s hesitation of her tongue was all that was needed, and Dirk quickly came to her side as the others prepared themselves for the jump. “Our kingdoms are at war,” He said, “With a mysterious entity who seeks to rally our troll populations against us with propaganda – hell, for all I know it could be one of you chumps trying to tear us all apart – but don’t misunderstand, we’re not pointing fingers. It’s just a stressful situation.” As Jade came to join everyone’s hands, he let her put his and Jane’s together, and his other hand with whoever had been placed beside him. Neither monarch paid much attention. “Lady Megido is one of my heralds, all however many of her showed up, and she says shit’s getting serious, so. We’re needed elsewhere. Sorry to cut the festivities short.”

“And just what lets the King of Derse decide such a thing for another kingdom?!?” Someone demanded. Dirk took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and squeezed Jane’s hand tightly as she looked at him. Why, she thought, did she have the funniest feeling about what he was going to do next?

“I think there are two things that give me that right,” He said as Space’s current began to crackle through them. “A shared concern for our peoples is the first…and being her betrothed is the second.”

They disappeared just a moment after he spoke, Space taking the job into its own metaphorical hands, but one moment was all it took for Jane to flush with an incredible heat, for the crowds before them to raise their voices, their shock like a wave building momentum and preparing to crash down into the surf. Those travelling had heard him, too, but it was only when Space threw them upon the earth once more that she knew the full extent of their reactions. John ripped her from Dirk’s grasp on one side, and Dave reeled in his brother on the other.

“Since when are you two engaged?” John asked, just as Dave said, “How the fuck does a stunt like that make our situation any better?” In a moment of brotherly panic they were in sync, grabbing their respective sibling by the collars and shaking them. “THIS BETTER BE A REALLY CRAPPY JOKE!!!”

Thankfully, there were members of both royal families who had a bit more tact. Rose and Roxy immediately pried Dirk and Dave apart, while Jade grabbed John from under his arms and Jake caught Jane in his arms, her mind quite scrambled by both magical travel and John’s actions. “The both of you are being extremely immature,” Rose said with narrowed eyes, “Regardless of whether this supposed betrothal is a joke or not, now is not the time for childish outbursts.”

“Yes, exactly! Get it together, lads!” Jake said. “We’ve come back for a reason, haven’t we? Let’s wipe the floor with this General’s bollocks post-haste and ask questions…” He paused, and Jane could just hear the rustle of fabric as he turned to look around. “Hold on a tick. Where have the trolls gone off to?”

That question yanked Jane from her stupor, and she looked around with the others. Space had brought them to where they had left this morning, in front of the castle in the Scratchlands. Not much looked different here, but the clash of weaponry and battle cries echoed down from the dome mountain. There she saw clusters of troops engaged in strife – and her court was fast approaching the foot of the mountain. She caught the last of them out of the corner of her eye, rounding the corner of the castle with weapons drawn. If there was not so much at stake, Jane would have wondered where they had kept weapons on their persons in the first place. “There they are!”

Jade promptly dropped John, and she ignored his grunt of pain as he hit the ground. “Oh my gosh! Guys, we can’t just let them head in alone!”

“It’s not like we can go in without weapons!” Roxy said. Her words sparked a great flurry of movement as they all started for the caravans; not a one had thought to bring their armaments. Who could have expected they would be needed?

“Dude, none of you guys can even get into the down and dirty stuff,” Dave said, “Just lemme get my sword and stay back. Time people only, remember?”

“Why should we do that?” John asked. “This Benefactor guy already broke his own rules! What’s the point of us keeping to them if he won’t?”

Such a conclusion only gave the dread in Jane more reason to mount, but she did not voice it. No doubt the others all felt that same dread clawing at their insides. They reached the caravans in record time and snatched up their things, booking towards the foot of the mountain as fast as their legs could carry them. But was it enough? The mountain was steep even for its curved shape, and it would exhaust them to climb. The trolls seemed to have realized this, for as they approached the foot they disappeared, and Jane thought she saw a mass of black appear at the edge of the fighting, melding with it in a flash. She turned about until she spotted Jade amongst them. “Do you think you could zap us to the top?” She asked. The Duchess nodded jerkily.

“I’ll need everyone to join hands!” She said, and slid to a stop. The others halted too, and Jane was quick to round them close together, palms clasping palms, weapons awkwardly held between two parties. With an inhale they were gone, and in an exhale they appeared again, immediately torn asunder.

Jade had done her job well – perhaps too well, for she had transported all eight of them into the very thick of the battle itself, and that was no place where one could stand and hold hands with another. The very nature of a battle was the antithesis of it; the chaos of felled foes and sweeping weapons left no room for peace. Whether knocked aside or pulling away by choice, the eight found themselves fighting for their lives the moment they appeared.

Their own soldiers did not raise blade or bullet to meet them, clad in gold and purple. It was the enemy whom they had to watch for, numerous trolls in heavy black armor who wielded weapons that called for little finesse, things like spears and clubs, flails and shields that could be used to batter and bruise, and they were relentless, charging through with no regard to order or strategy. Beating them back would do nothing – the Benefactor’s General was Jane’s true target. Knowing not where she could find them or how they would be different from the crowd, Jane took to pushing through the battle, brandishing her trident and pausing only when her dress or shawl became caught. She tore herself free every time, and not a thought was given to all the rips it created.

She came upon something on accident, tripped over it really, as she squeezed between two soldiers in combat. Something on the ground caught her feet and Jane fell atop it, the curves and feel immediately registering as a body. She made to pull back, horrified, until she caught sight of its face out of the corner of her eye. The battle surged around her, she was well aware, but it was unimportant, the sound muffled in Jane’s ears.

“…Aradia?”

The Lady Megido was unresponsive. Breathing still, by the rise and fall of her chest, but her eyes were half lidded, eyelids shivering. Jane patted her head and checked her body, but Aradia did not seem to be bleeding, nor had she been given any sort of blow. All that was evident was that she was down for the count, and livid could not even begin to describe Jane. She wanted answers. She wanted a head on a platter. She wanted –

A shadow fell across both Queen and Lady. A point swished through the air, hovering just before the jewel of Jane’s circlet, and through the sweat and rage of war she smelt a tobacco seared into her memory, faint on the wind though it was.

“No,” Jane whispered to herself, “No, it couldn’t be. No…!”

She looked up slowly. Before her was a slim body dressed in a long red cape, the hand before her gray with impeccable nails, gripped neatly around a sleek, sharp needle. The smile – no, she could not look on, for it curdled her insides. The teeth parted, a tongue clicked.

“Maid has never been so… _late_.”

All at once the world felt tilted, and Jane’s hands trembled. She felt so troublingly young once more, tired and dirty, fingertips recoiling at the texture of felt and tongue bitten back, her heart so full of beaten pride that it was fit to burst. “Lady Damara,” She said. “So…this is what’s become of you.”

They were perfect twins, her old mistress and the comatose troll below her, but Aradia had never sneered like Damara, ugly and poised and sharp. With a subtle squeeze of her needle the air crackled around her, and the battle slowed. “What has become? No. What _is_ , what has been. Are you stupid, Maid?”

Jane’s mouth pulled back in a snarl, and she made to bring her trident up to knock away the needle. Whatever Damara had done to their surroundings affected Jane as well, and she could only look on, horrified, as her arm climbed sluggishly into place. Damara laughed and removed the needle on her own.

“Benefactor’s First General,” She said, “Tiktok Witch. That is me.”

“I don’t understand!” Jane exclaimed – her mind worked faster than her mouth, the sounds too long to be discerned. How had Lady Damara joined up with this Benefactor? When had she learned the Art of Time? What was her connection to all this madness, and what made her break the rules set forth by her new master? Even if Jane could ask these things, it was doubtful she would be answered. Damara had never been straightforward.

Before she could think another thought, something barreled into Damara from the side, moving with a speed unparalleled. As soon as the troll was knocked off her feet time wound itself to normal, though Jane could not bring herself to move right away. She felt paralyzed, completely encased in the moment, as before her Dave had leapt through the crowds to attack Damara, seemingly unaffected by her spell. Those fighting around them had stopped and backed away as they thrashed upon the ground, punching and clawing at each other, Dave out of rage and Damara in defense. Eventually they rolled to a stop, man atop troll, one arm pressed down on her throat while the other was held up and away, a broken sword in his hand. Somehow, Damara’s cape had slipped off of her, revealing a black dress with a high buttoned collar and a slit down the side. The cape had wrapped itself around Dave, but he ignored it in favor of pressing down with all of his strength, his sword shaking with the effort.

“Lay. _Off_ ,” Dave grunted, “You’re here to fight _me_. Right? So come the _fuck_ at me-”

He yelled out in shock when Damara pushed him, rolling Dave onto his back and pinning him to the ground in one fluid motion, his spectacles knocked askew. She was almost sultry, mockingly so, nowhere more than in her smile, and he writhed in her grasp. The soldiers on both sides watched, the Beforans in black shifting uncomfortably. “Knight should know better!” Damara said, “Leaving Rust Maid all alone. Bad move, such a bad move.”

She should do something, Jane realized, she should knock Damara over as Dave had done for her, but Aradia was still limp in her arms and there was still so much confusion. Something cut through it before she could sort her thoughts – it was a great yell, and another figure burst through the crowds, knocking soldiers aside with the butt of her rifle and eyes half wild with fury. It was Jade, and the moment she leveled her gun to Damara’s head many weapons were leveled at hers by those in black. “Let him go.”

“Back off, Jade,” Dave said. The Duchess only grit her teeth and gripped her gun tighter.

“And let you get manhandled? No thanks!” She did not flinch or shudder when Damara smirked at her, and when the troll moved to snatch her needle from where it had been discarded, the gun’s barrel followed.

“But the rules-” Jane began, and Jade looked to her and snarled.

“This lady’s not playing by the rules!” She exclaimed. “Why should I? We should never have agreed to them in the first place!”

It was distraction enough – Damara took her chance and grabbed her needle, lashing out at the barrel of Jade’s rifle. That in turn snapped the Duchess back to the matter at hand, and the pair struggled against each other, steel on lacquered wood too stubborn to snap. Somehow Damara still kept hold of Dave, her free hand pinning him by his throat, and again Jane felt she should get between them all, push them apart and make them see reason. Or tie Damara up and question her until the cows came home. That was an option too.

But before any option could be weighed, something happened that could have only been an act of serendipity:

Jade pulled the trigger of her rifle.

There was a sound like one thousand clocks crashing into the ground after a long, long fall. Jade and her gun and the bullet it expelled disappeared in a crackle of deep red light, and if Jane had blinked she would have missed it as others had. The exclamations of surprise from the surrounding soldiers proved as much – but Dave had not blinked, and shock paled his face to a ghostly white.

In an instant Dave threw Damara off of him, Jane couldn’t tell how, and he was atop her once more, broken sword in hand. He jabbed it into her stomach with little pause for mercy, and Damara convulsed, her scream choked by the sudden font of maroon blood that bubbled from her mouth, and her hands flew to wrap around his blade, twitching uselessly in an attempt to pull it out.

Dave was livid, half mad with emotion, and he bared his teeth without a hint of hesitance. “You’re crazy,” He said, “You’re fucking nuts. You didn’t even have to bother with her!!” When all he received was a shaky, gory grin for an answer, Dave pulled out the blade in one fluid motion and let her flop to the ground.

She barely hit it when she too disappeared in light and the sound of clocks, and around them the soldiers in black dropped like flies, eyes rolling back into their heads. Jane looked about for only a moment before she left Aradia’s body, stumbling like a newborn fawn on her feet to approach Dave.

“What in the world just happened?” She asked. The Knight before her said not a word. His eyes swept the battlefield as he sheathed his half-sword, and when he found his spectacles in the grass, he picked them up and placed them on once more, delicately and with one long, calming breath.

“Jade,” He said, “Went back in time.”

Jane took a moment to wait and see if Dave would turn around and wave off his words as a joke, but he did not. She stepped back as he stood up. “Pardon?”

“Jade _went back in time_ ,” Dave said again. His voice shook, but there was something in it, a small and budding resolve. “That…whoever that lady was, she sent Jade back. Or forward. I don’t know, I have to – _fuck_.” He grabbed at the cloak still wound about himself and pulled it off, only to set it neatly on the mantle of his shoulders. “I have to go and look for her before her trail’s too faint.”

In that moment Dave looked so much older, so much like the man who had appeared to her all those years ago, who had worked so tirelessly behind the scenes to bring them all to this day. It made her wonder. “So you’re going back now?” She asked. Around them, the soldiers of Prospit and Derse picked their ways through the fallen, pulling aside the fainted enemies for questioning. The others would surely gravitate to them soon, to relay pieces of the battle to each other and figure out just what had happened.

“Have to,” He said. Dave glanced at Jane out of the corner of his eyes and really looked at her, appraising the young Queen before him. “That Megido lookalike fucked up my Time Buddy and screwed with one of my apparent future in-laws.” He paused to gesture flippantly, “I already did my due for Aradia with that wound. No way the lady’ll live through it. It’s Jade’s turn to be avenged.”

That was all well and good, Jane thought, but there had to be more to it, whether Dave realized what he was getting into or not. “Just…you should be careful,” Was all she could think to say. He nodded.

“Yeah. I’ll do my best.” Dave turned his back on Jane, and – yes, now more than ever he was that red crusader. There was no doubt that so much more than Jade that awaited him. “Tell my Bro I’m sorry I’m skipping town without telling him. And. Uh…congratulations. I guess.”

And in a single step he was gone, a rush of ticking, crashing clocks left in Dave’s wake.

~*~

It was agonizing. Oh, by all that was unholy, the wound throbbed with her every breath, and blood spurted forth with every throb. She would try to stop breathing, but that would only ruin everything that the Benefactor had worked for. It rested on her shoulders. She just needed to be allowed to heal. Heal, and then…

“Damara, you are bleeding on my suit.”

The leg she had grasped shook, and with her remaining strength she held on tight. “Please. _Please_. Can still fight. Can still win. They broke rules! Heal, please. I can beat them.”

“You seem to have conveniently forgotten of your own breaking of the rules, Damara.” His hand rested atop her head in a mocking gesture of paternal affection. “I specifically put them into play so they could be followed. It’s not very fun to cheat with an opening move, you know.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” She spat in Beforan.

“I am ever so glad you agree that you have not properly proven yourself as of late. That’s very humble of you, Damara. What a good bit of moral fiber you still manage to contain.”

She used to think he could not understand this language of the trolls, but now Damara wondered if perhaps he was bluffing. Funny what one thought of, while they bled to death.

“Unfortunately, it is not enough for me to offer you a second chance.”

With a snap of his fingers, Damara’s body became cold as ice, but not by any strange doing of his. She felt a set of eyes on her back, and three distinct pricks of prongs there too, one on each shoulder and the middle grazing the spine.

“No,” She whispered, and she turned her head. “Meenah, no-”

But it was too late. With sparkling eyes and a gleeful cackle, a trident pierced Damara’s body and killed her instantly. The Benefactor tsked as her grip around him slackened, and he nudged the husk of a body away with his foot.

 “Oh, come now,” He said, “As if I would let _that_ boy inherit your legacy. Sorry to say it, Lady Damara, but I need the lot of you to do your job correctly.” He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “You’ve been…replaced. And for the better, too. This one has the chance to actually confront the winning piece.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not only did this chapter nearly take a month to write, but I was convinced it didn't work as a whole until I read it aloud all the way through to do my edits. I feel a lot better about it now, though. Obviously.
> 
> So please tell me what you think of the setup of the chapter - I know, I'm actually asking for feedback, how weird. Did you like the length? What did you think of the flashback at the beginning, does it work? I want to hear your opinions, and I want to incorporate them into the coming chapters!


	6. Pan

_The Windy Thing: the ultimate expression of the Art of Breath. Mastery of it was rare, if not impossible, or at least their books put it that way. It took sweeps of diligent study to even approach the point where you could summon such a Breeze, let alone control it, and the only master was said to be the mostly fake Pupa Pan, the troll of legend who tamed all beasts and befriended fairies, who ruled the skies without fear…but John had an idea._

_Tavros didn’t know what it was yet. All John told him was, “I have an idea,” and winked at him repeatedly at lunch. It was obvious he was talking about The Windy Thing; from the day they both began their lessons he was enamored by the idea, and had always tried to make it happen, even if it swept the palace off the grounds and dropped it into some faraway land, or sent everyone careening into the stratosphere! For four and a half sweeps, he was a pretty reckless human already. Tavros wouldn’t be lying if he admitted he thought the supposed heir to the throne was a bit stupid._

_With an enthusiasm to rival little ones springing from bed or cocoon to look for presents on 12th Perigee’s Eve, John dragged Tavros away as soon as lunch was over. The troll dug his heels into the ground as much as he could, but even at this age John had comparable grit. “I really, don’t think I want any part of this,” Tavros said, “Your ideas are always really dangerous, and we could’ve died last time, which I guess you don’t remember, seeing as how you hit your head pretty hard!”_

_“It was only dangerous because we forced everything,” John said. “We just had the wrong approach, I’m sure of it!” John managed to bring Tavros all the way out to the courtyard, where he made sure to hold Tavros’s hands. “Okay. So, what did all the people who could use Breath before us have that we don’t?”_

_“Uh, foresight?”_

_John shook his head. “No, try again!”_

_“Um…” Tavros shifted back and forth. “Wings?” Pupa Pan had sprouted wings, he remembered, and that was why the winds had bent to his will._

_“Nooo!” John pouted and stomped his feet. “They had confidence! They believed they could do things, so they were able to do them! Haven’t you noticed it in our books? Every time someone gets really close to The Windy Thing, they start doubting themselves and they lose it!” Suddenly he beamed, and a breeze picked up about him. It was an unconscious thing on John’s part, but Tavros couldn’t help but be a little jealous. It took so much for him just to make wind like that. “So if we don’t have any worries and just let it happen, we should get it!”_

_That sounded like the opposite of a safe, practical idea, and Tavros knew it – yet John’s enthusiasm was frustratingly catching. He had always proven himself a leader, every nudge in any direction whirled up in his mind and blown out by his words as if they fell into place by chance. It wasn’t something the troll realized, but it was there nonetheless, and for a moment he was breathlessly enchanted with this idea. He nodded. “Alright, well, if you’re sure that’s how it went, I guess we could-”_

_But before he could say another word, his Art was spurned to action, and John’s mingled with it. There was only a soft glow around their hands, but around them the air began to sweep about, rippling the grass and rustling the leaves in the trees. It picked up quickly, buffeting their faces and, in time, inching the clouds into a circle above them…_

_And that was what brought Tavros to his senses. He tugged at John’s hold. “Hey – hey, wait a second-”_

_The wind warped around them; it became stale and harsh. John gripped him tighter. “No, don’t do that! Trust me, okay?” It was more his Breath than Tavros’s now, but even that was beginning to loosen from his grasp. “If you doubt it, it goes all wrong!”_

_“But it’s dangerous! I can’t help it!” He began to pant, and his heart raced. “I’m scared!”_

_“C’mon, Tavros! Just take your doubt, and…” John paused to concentrate, eyes scrunched closed. “Let it go up with the wind!”_

_John said it as if it were easy! As if a feeling could be shed as naturally as snakes could their skin! But Tavros had to try, right? Or else the Breeze about them would lash out across the sky, and who knew what chaos it could cause!_

_He took a deep breath. He took his anxieties, formed the feeling into a ball in his chest, and then…as he exhaled…the feelings clung to his Breath, and left with it. All at once the Breeze around them calmed, and Tavros knew instinctively that_ he _had done that, not John. The fear was gone, dissipated through the sky, and his heart felt light and free and winged. On those wings Tavros threw his inhibitions to the side for the first time, and John laughed triumphantly as the wind became strong around them once more, enough so that their feet lifted inches above the ground._

_It was the closest the two boys had ever come to flying, but they were young. They had a lifetime of soaring ahead of them yet._

~*~

The casualties of this first battle were surprisingly minimal. It made a bit of pride swell in everyone, to know that soldiers of Prospit and Derse had worked so well together to beat back their enemies at such short notice. There were also a fair number of prisoners to question now, all held below in the dungeons, weapons confiscated, wrists shackled, heads and horns hung in shame – but their time would come later. For a night they could reflect on what they had done. There was a story to be pieced together, and as they sat at the throne room’s round table the Court of Derse held center stage…but that did not mean they were eager to share. Tired eyes flitted to and fro, never resting in one place long. Lips were worried, words curt and clipped. Sollux out of all of them was the most morose by far. He had dragged one of the now empty chairs around the table and used it to prop his legs up, and he curled up on the seats of two chairs with his head  resting in his knees, unflappable and silent. No one told him to cut it out. It was Aradia’s chair he had taken, and she couldn’t join them. She had been laid up in the Derse trolls’ caravan, tucked into bed as neatly as if she were asleep, for she even slept as still as the dead.

Eventually, as the night wore on, the story came forth in bits and pieces. It had been midmorning, and the trolls remaining had gone to examine the towers built for each of them around the castle. They were ready to be moved into, yes, but none had been furnished in the wake of the coming war. Still, all six of them agreed that scoping them out would be a good use of their time, and so they had climbed and explored, relishing in a space that would be completely theirs.

The joy did not last long. No one was sure who saw the army of black first, coming up over the top of the mountain like storm clouds rolling across the sky, but they all left their towers and ran for the troops they had close by. There was no announcement that these were the dreaded Beforans once the two groups met, only berserkers and the wild heat of battle. They had no choice but to defend themselves.

“Nobody knew what had happened to Aradia until the bad guys started sinking,” Feferi said, “We hadn’t even realized you guys had shoaled up! It was impossibubble to find anybuoy in there!”

Jane hummed and sat back in her seat, eyebrows furrowed. “Then I wonder how Dave found me,” She said. “How did he know I was in danger? Do you suppose it was a Time thing? He felt Damara use it, and let it guide him?”

Karkat groaned, and pushed the papers in front of him away. He had insisted on taking minutes, on the chance that keeping notes could help them. “Who could say? Dave’s not exactly around to ask, you know. He decided to light the fuck out of here and leave running this crazy barkbeast pest circus to us. Lazy, shit-mongering-”

Beside Jane, Dirk began to tense. He had been quiet, too, and it concerned her, but it was probably not best if he broke that silence because of her General. She cleared her throat. “Now, now – he’s doing it for a good reason! Jade very well can’t travel through time herself. I’m sure they’ll pop back to us when we least expect it.”

“Here here!” Jake said, slapping his hand on the table. His smile was a ghost of its usual self, but at least he made an attempt to be cheerful, as if his sister wasn’t in possible danger. “I say we have a bit of faith in the chap. He’s got his head screwed on right, mark my words. Everything will be fine!”

His words were met with murmurs and glances aside, but he did not falter under their scrutiny no matter how many beats of silence passed. Eventually he did sit back, but only because of John, who cleared his throat with particular gusto.

“ _Hrm_ – uh, yeah, Dave should be okay,” John said, “We shouldn’t have to worry about him. I think there’s something else we should be worrying about _instead_ …” He looked at Jane and Dirk pointedly. “Like the apparent _engagement_ going on right underneath our noses – I for one feel betrayed here. I know Dave would too. I am confronting this for him!”

“John, please,” Jane hissed, “Don’t turn this into a production-”

But he threw his hands into the air. “ _I’m_ not the guy who’s turning it into a production! _I_ didn’t drop the bomb in front of half the world’s leaders expecting my friends to roll with it-”

“We planned on telling you,” Jane said, and she turned to Dirk. He remained quiet and impassive, but she thought he shrank back just a smidge under her gaze. “And I was just as shocked as you were that it was announced before we mentioned anything! But I don’t think yelling like a lunatic is going to help matters.”

Nepeta raised her hand as high as she could, half sitting in her seat. “Could somebody please explain what happened fur those of us who weren’t there for whatefur this is?” She asked, out of concern for the confusion that played on the faces of the trolls of Derse. “Secrets aren’t any fun unless you tell efuryone!”

“That also no longer makes them secrets,” Equius said, and he guided his moirail back into her chair with as much gentleness as he could muster. “But I, too, am…bamboozled.”

As the others chimed in, some wanting answers, others asking questions, John a flustered mess throughout, Dirk deflated. “You want I should tell them?” He asked Jane softly. “I get it. I opened my big mouth and pissed off everyone. So I should make it right.”

His intonation was a bit off, as if he realized he’d done something stupid out of haste, and did not have it in him to admit how much it had begun to weigh on him. Jane took pity on Dirk, placing a comforting hand on his back. “Just tell me _why_ you did it later,” She said, “I’ll tell them now.” He glanced at her, and after a moment gave a little salute. That was enough for her; Dirk had placed it all in Jane’s hands. She cleared her throat, and everyone fell silent to listen.

“Dirk and I,” Jane began, “Had decided last winter that…it would be best if our countries were joined together due to shared political turmoil. The other countries, as we’re all painfully aware, don’t really understand us, and are probably not too keen on making much of an effort to do so. To do that…we agreed to, um. You know. Marry. Each other.” Her smile was more of a grimace, and she shrugged. “Surprise…?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what that means,” Terezi said with her hand raised. Karkat rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Quadrant-locked,” He said through his teeth, “They want to be locked into a Matespritship with each other.” All the other trolls gasped, save for the sulking Sollux, and they looked to each other and nodded in understanding. Nepeta in particular nearly vibrated in her chair, and soon she began to chitter to herself, pulling a small notebook and pencil from her pockets to make notes or adjustments or whatever it was she kept in there. “Which is a pretty stupid move, since, you know, half the troll population would pitch their shit into our potential future funeral pyres if they knew you wanted to pull that. Sure, let’s mash the countries together by eating cake and building a mega-monarchy while completely ignoring the socio-political climate! Sounds like a great fucking time! Do you want to bring the torches and pitchforks, or should I?”

Rose leaned forward in her seat, pressing her hands to her face. “I really would’ve welcomed this news if it came at another time,” She said, almost to herself. Roxy reached over and patted her sister’s shoulders, but she did not say a word.

“But what’s done is done, isn’t it?” Feferi asked. “It doesn’t seem like there’s any use getting your underpants in knots, Karcrab! Quadrant-locks are sea-rious!”

“Fef, they’re not ewen locked yet,” Eridan said. “They can break it off anytime, right? I mean, sure, it’d piss off a lot a other countries, but-”

It was then that Dirk finally moved. He stood suddenly, startling even Jane, and he planted his palms on the table, his jaw set in a scowl. “You want us to break this off?” He asked. “You want to go through the motions of a new asshole suitor every week who struts around with their nose in the air and a holier-than-thou attitude shoved up their ass?” No one had dared to answer him, and as he went on, no one dared try to look him in the eye, no one but Jane. “You want all of us to be torn apart from each other after getting hitched to one of these bozos? First Prospit and Derse, and then human and troll for sure, no matter how hard we fight for the legitimacy of your titles and your personhood? You really want anyone else coming in who thinks they can control us, take over our lives and make our world into whatever they want?” He lifted one hand, only to make it a fist and pound it on the table. Everyone flinched. “I sure as fuck don’t. And maybe it’s a stretch, because I really _can’t_ speak on her behalf, but I’d like to think that Jane doesn’t either.” There was a pause. Dirk finally stood straight and tall, and he pointed his finger around the table, even to the empty chairs. “So. Who’s the guy who wants that? Stand up. Make your argument. I am all-fuckin’-ears.”

No one stood. Dirk watched them all for quite some time, prolonging the moment so as it would become as uncomfortable as possible, to make them think over his words with care. When he sighed and left the table, headed for the doors to the grass corridor, there was no visible shift to relief, but there was a ripple of something throughout them all that Jane could not discern, for it was not quite like fear or compliance, or the obedience that sprung from either.

Silence did not reign long once Dirk had disappeared. Perhaps out of desperation for a lighthearted breath, Feferi began to look to and fro with a beaming grin. “Whale! That is _certainly_ a lot of food for thought, isn’t it? But I wonder if that’s what we shoal-d be doing when we’ve got Wriggling Day things to do!”

“FF,” Sollux said, face still buried in his knees. Those nearby him jumped in surprise that he had even spoken up at all. “Thith really doethn’t theem like the betht time.”

Feferi’s face fell, and her fins wiggled forlornly. “But we made a cake and everyfin!!!”

They had made a cake? Jane’s cheeks grew warm, though her heart sank. “For…me?”

“And John!” Nepeta said. “It’s his Wriggling Day too, or, well, I remember celebrating it on this day with efuryone when we all lived in Purrospit!”

Ah, that was right. They alone shared this day, or so Jane had been told by Calliope. John’s jaw dropped. “Whoa, for me too? I mean, I wasn’t gonna make a big deal about it, but if you went through the trouble, we didn’t even get to have the cake back at the party!” He turned to the Lalondes. “Hey, Roxy! Hear that? You get your cake!”

“Hear ya loud ‘n clear, Johnny boy!” Roxy said, giving him a thumbs up. Immediately the others were roused to cheer, chatting away at the prospect of cake, all save two. Sollux was pried off of his chairs by Feferi, her touch both gentle and chiding, and Jane…could not bring herself to follow as they wandered off to the outside, where the entrance to the cellar and its kitchens waited. Her eyes glanced to the doors to the grass corridor, and she worried her bottom lip.

If anyone noticed that Jane did not try to catch up to the group when she finally left the table, they did not say so, nor did they turn to encourage her to hurry, or all of her cake would be eaten before she got a slice. The way she saw it, no one would notice until it was time to cut the blasted thing anyway. She had time.

The terrain in the grass corridor had grown in their time here. The blades were greener, thicker, longer. Jade had spent every free moment preparing everything for when the workers would bring trees and sprouting plants, to put this place on track for eccentricity. She had even brought a bit of ivy from the Scratchlands’ forest, its tendrils just barely clinging to a sad attempt at a small lattice fence. It saddened Jane a bit, to see all the half-dug holes and bare furrows, and she picked her way between them until it was Dirk who sat before her, or more appropriately lay. He had sprawled out on the ground in front of the still-barren frame, and though Jane stood so that her shadow fell across his face, he did not so much as stir.

“They’re having cake without us,” She said, and sat on the grass to join him, legs tucked underneath her. When still Dirk did not speak, she reached out to card her fingers lightly through his hair. “If I weren’t so gosh darned enamored with you and you didn’t have a point, I’d say you were acting like a petulant child about the whole affair. I think they’re just upset you jumped to spill the beans so quickly.” Jane thought she saw a flicker of eyes, and she frowned. “Honestly, I can’t blame them. What got into you? Would you tell me now?”

Dirk took a long breath, and a hand came up to rub at his eyes. When Jane plucked his spectacles off his face, he did not flinch, but his eyes stayed firmly shut. “Might’ve been panic,” He said, “I’m not sure. My mind blanked. There were at least one hundred Aradias filling up your throne room, Jane, do you not think that’s a cause for alarm?”

“Of course I think it is.” She folded his spectacles and let them rest neatly in her lap. “Did you think I couldn’t handle the crowd?”

“No, of course not – that’s not the _problem_. It’s the _Aradias_. I was forced to study Time when I was a kid, and while I couldn’t tell you the difference between one squiggly cog or another, I do know that the appearance of multiple selves is not a good thing. There is a distinct possibility that all of those Aradias are going to end up dead because they came here.”

Everything felt cold all of a sudden, and Jane’s fingers stilled in Dirk’s hair. “What do you mean, dead?” She asked. “They’re from, what, different timelines-”

“Exactly.” Dirk pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s the nature of Time. There’s only one road that’s absolute, the alpha of the pack. The simplest of divergences and the reality we’re in right now could collapse. So, no matter where those Aradias came from, they all came knowing there was a chance that they could doom everything just with their presence.” An eye cracked open to look at her. “The fact that they all had the same goal of getting us here means that our presence during that ambush was a tipping point, and it kills me that we don’t have any way of knowing if we’re still on the straight and narrow until – I don’t know, we fizzle into nothingness?”

He probably did not mean to, Jane knew it, but his words brought a terrible tightness to her chest, and her mind became blank and heavy. “No,” She said, “No, that – that won’t happen.”

“You can’t say that for sure-”

“I won’t _let_ it happen.” She could barely breathe, and despite her denial Jane wondered if Dirk could be right, if he had felt what coursed through her now and it had loosened his tongue enough to want to tell the world of their intentions as frankly as possible. “Dave will tell us. When he comes back, you’ll see that this was how it all had to happen! I am certain of it down to the very bottom of my heart.”

There was a pause between them, ever so quiet. It would have been better if a breeze could blow through, rustling the grass and their hair, but all was closed off, and it made the corridor eerie, a parody of wilderness. Dirk sat up very suddenly, and he turned so that he faced Jane, head bowed.

“…You know what?” He said, “Every part of me says that’s the most ridiculous, blind-faith kind of thing to come out of your mouth. It doesn’t suit you at all. But at the same time, I know you wouldn’t believe something unless it had a perfect percentage of being true. It’s just not your thing to throw your lot into the impossible. So…I’m going to try and ignore the voice in my head that screams about how illogical that is. And I’m going to put my trust in you on this one.”

Jane’s eyes widened as elation filled her to banish her panic, and a faint blush sprung to life upon her cheeks. “You will?”

“Well part of it is because of Dave,” He said, “I don’t want to think he didn’t know the consequences of jumping to wherever he jumped to, and…you know. He’s my Bro. I can’t accept any timeline where dead Daves start piling up.” Dirk paused, heaving a sigh; just those words had lightened him considerably. “And it’d be a pretty dick move of me not to trust you, right? This shit between us is supposed to be give and take. The least I can give is my faith.”

Though he had not lifted his head, Jane bent hers so they were level, and just as the last word left his lips she pressed their foreheads together, and when his hands reached out for his spectacles she did not deny them. They were in agreement, for a moment, that things were awful and confounding, that there was very little they could do but gamble on good faith that their risks were the right ones, even those choices made under duress.

When the pair finally appeared in the cellar, standing quite close with hands held together behind their backs, there were many glances sent their way, but not one word of dissention. Despite the cake, brows were heavy and shoulders set in grim anticipation, and no one could shake the gloom the future held, but as they sat together, one thing was clear – they would meet it together.

~*~

A week passed in relative peace. It was agreed that none of nobility or royalty would leave the Scratchlands citadel until everything was right once more – until the Beforans were vanquished, put plainly – and there were plans for the next attack in early drafts, but having fought once and coming out the other side alive had relieved some of the tension they all held. They all worried for Aradia, but every doctor that was present in town (a whopping two, if the physician in training counted) had brought her condition to a stable place, even if she slept on as if nothing had happened. Sollux watched over her keenly, still solemn, still silent, for that was all that could be done.

And then, the package came.

It was not delivered by a postal carrier, but rather appeared just outside the front door, brown and unsuspecting and tied with white string, with a letter affixed to the top and sealed with white wax and a chillingly familiar insignia, round and blank. When after much testing it was deemed safe to open, Jane read first the contents of a letter aloud, for it had not been concealed with any unfathomable magics:

**To the Royal Families and Courts of Prospit and Derse once more,**

**It is with deepest sincerity that I formally and openly apologize for the actions of the TikTok Witch, Lady Damara Megido of Beforan. My intentions and those of my subordinates have never been to act out of turn; I am a fellow who is bound to rules quite willingly. Therefore, due to this mishap, I concede the first round of our little game to you. The next clash _shall_ be on the Ides of the coming month, I assure you, and the General who shall meet you looks to the date with anticipation. He is a user of the Art of Breath, and asks those who match him to meet him on the battlefield.**

**Included with my letter is a token – a piece of insurance on my part – that what has transpired between us in the past will not be the case for the future, should you doubt my sincerity. I would not blame you if you did. But I am also fairly confident that my accompanying gesture will lay your doubts to rest.**

**Oh. And to the newly christened Queen, and her Prince Regent: Happy Birthday.**

**Until the Ides once more,**

**The Benefactor of Beforan**

Another letter from that awful Benefactor! It chilled them to the core to see the ease in his words, how flippant he was about it all! If asked, each of them would agree that they should toss out his infernal package and prepare for the worst. But no one asked, and Jane could not keep her fingers from tugging at the white string. Upon opening the box a stench rolled forth, faint and sickly. That should have been Jane’s first clue, for her stomach tied itself in knots, but she reached inside anyway, grimacing as her fingers wound themselves in something stringy and coarse, and with one firm yank she pulled the contents up, surprised at how weighty they were.

In an instant the room was filled with gasps and screams (and one drawl of “Could someone please enlighten the blind girl”, though from the smell alone she could probably discern what it was), but Jane could not make a sound. Too much filled her all at once, dread and disgust and a slight bit of justified schadenfreude, and all she could do was drop the thing at her feet. Her hand felt diseased from just touching it – the severed head of Lady Damara, horns and all. The blood had been left to drain from the head, but something gray still dribbled onto the floor, and Jane felt her breath quicken as she inched back.

The message was clear, to those gathered around the head and those who had been its owners’ compatriots – insubordination would not be tolerated by any means. If they desired victory, then they played the Benefactor’s game, by the Benefactor’s rules, or they didn’t play at all.

There was a sudden scrape of the chair, and Tavros bolted from the room, a hand pressed firmly to his mouth. The others watched as he launched himself into the grass corridor, and after a beat, there was the faint and unmistakable sound of someone retching the contents of their stomach. Everyone wrinkled their noses in sympathy, but John was the first to stand up.

“I’ll go check on him.”

“Shouldn’t his moirail-” Rose began, but Terezi rapped her cane on the desk, interrupting her.

“Tavros and I are only pale on paper,” She said. When Gamzee made to get up, she swung her cane into his chest, knocking the wind right out of him. “And the last thing he needs is for you to try to rap at him to make the nausea subside. Sit down, clown.” Vriska made to rise next, and she was subjected to the cane as well. “And you’ll only make him feel worse! Honestly! The last time you tried to help him out, you pushed him out of a tree! That doesn’t stop people from puking!”

John had paused to look nervously between the trolls, taking in Terezi’s razor grin and the growls that rolled from deep in Gamzee’s throat, how Vriska glared at anything and everyone with her fangs bared. He sighed. “Uh, yeah. I think I’ll just get going now. Please don’t eat each other by the time I get back, okay? Guys, I’m counting on you?”

And with that he hurried off, casting nervous glances back at his peers, at the head. It really was a gruesome thing, and if John lived to never see another one like it again, it would not be enough. He slipped into the grass corridor and came across Tavros rather quickly; he seemed to have tried to go to his tower, but he had not made it in time. He kneeled on the grass, doubled over, a brown and foul-smelling puddle in front of him. The troll coughed twice.

“That was…” Tavros paused to breathe, and for a moment John thought he might vomit again. “Um. Really gross, and, unreal. Huh?”

Slowly, John lowered himself down, sitting on his haunches next to Tavros and hugging his knees. “Yeah. I don’t think anybody expected _that_ to be the ‘token’. But I guess maybe it makes sense? I mean, we’re at war, right? It’s like saying, hey, that person who caused trouble for us both? Now neither of us have to worry about them.”

Tavros gave a weak chuckle, and he leaned back to sit on his prosthetic legs. It was amazing how easily he had accustomed himself to them; sometimes even the troll seemed to forget they weren’t real, and he would move with as much ease as he had before, but most times he was stiff and clunky. It was good, John thought, that this was not one of those times. Remembering one’s shortcomings was not exactly pleasant when one felt ill.

“I think I can understand that,” Tavros said, “But it’s still, uh, worrying. Severed heads aren’t, generally a good thing, if you were not aware, but you probably were, because most people are-” He heaved, and John leaned out of the way, expecting vomit, but nothing came up. “Um…sorry. I’m just, nervous, I guess…”

“About what?” John looked at the troll with careful scrutiny. Tavros was an open book, and from the hunch of his shoulders to the set of his brow, anyone could take a guess at what was on his mind and most likely be correct. “About the battle?”

“Well yeah, we’re next!” The troll turned to face him sharply, and John jerked back to avoid being clocked by those impressive horns. “And, it just strikes me as strange, that all of a sudden, these other people are coming out of nowhere, and they want to fight us, and they have Arts like us! I don’t _want_ to use Breath to hurt anybody, unless it was absolutely necessary!”

“But it _is_ necessary,” John said, “That’s what war’s _about_.” Though the words were sour on his tongue, and he could not say them with complete assurance. What did John know of war that Tavros did not? Their roles in that which came before had been minimal at best and ended in chaos at worst, and all before that had been a comfortable, swaddled lie – but all that was in the past, it no longer mattered. John had come to comfort Tavros of his own volition. He had to be the strong one. “You’re talking like you don’t think we’ll beat this General guy-”

“Or girl,” Tavros said, “The last one, was a girl-”

“The letter said he’d be a guy, so he’s a General _guy_. Look, there’s no way they could be as good as us when it comes to Breath, and I’d bet my teeth they can’t summon The Windy Thing!” He sprung up, arms spread out, and even in the stillness of the grass corridor he could manage to create a trickling breeze. It was supposed to be reassuring, but Tavros looked up at him forlornly.

“Jane said, the lady who had Time, was really good at what she did. She even slowed an entire battle down, and, we didn’t even notice.” His face screwed up in something akin to pain. “You really don’t think this guy, who is only apparently a guy, according to a source, we already do not trust, could just wiggle their pinkie finger, and blow us around the world?”

If he were honest, John would admit that he didn’t know what to think, not really. He was just trying to be confident about it, and he had hoped it would help Tavros be confident. It had always worked in the past, to let his optimism buoy up and carry others away. Everyone had always stayed together, and things always turned out fine. Thinking negatively just wasn’t in his system.

So John heaved a whistling sigh, his shoulders slumping with it. “I think that we’re gonna be great,” He said, “Just as great as that one guy in the fairy stories you used to read, what was he called-”

“Pupa Pan,” Tavros supplied. Just saying the name made him brighten considerably, and John snapped his fingers.

“Yeah, that’s him! We’ll be just as awesome as he was, you know when he…uh, did that thing-”

“Defeated the Dreaded Gamblignants of the Western Seas with one gust of Breath blown from his wings!”

“Yes! Yes, that part. We’ll be just like that! Only with bad guys in black armor instead of roulette-happy troll pirates.”

The comparison seemed to have worked. Tavros beamed with excitement, and the breeze that picked up was his doing, not John’s. But there was still an uneasiness to their laughter as the pair continued their banter, an undercurrent of anxiety that flowed through their veins. They could hide behind bravado and nostalgia all they wished, but reality loomed for them ahead, and it was impossible to outrun it forever.

~*~

The weeks crept on in an uneasy monotony. Soldiers went through unending drills in the great expanse between the citadel and its outer wall, they marched up the domed mountain and down again in gold and purple armor. The troll Courts were made to don new war colors, none thrilled with the idea that the black they favored could tie them to their enemies, and that was a fiasco in its own right. White was right out, and every other shade fell too close to a blood color to allow it to be more than a personal accent. To create any kind of resentment or favoritism that could be hemocaste or species related was dangerous even in peaceful times. Eventually, they came to agree on a light grey that would stand out against black forces, should it have to, and though there was much grumbling and gnashing of fangs the Courts withstood another round of measurements and fittings. It was the least they could do for their people.

Though Karkat was the only titled General between the kingdoms left to put the troops in their paces, everyone helped where they could. Some focused on honing their skills in combat and sharing what they knew with the troops; some strategized formations and methods to use the skills of the armies to their advantages. If berserkers met them once again, they would be overpowered by sheer finesse – _if_ they were what came. It was all supposing and maybes, knowing that they must be prepared for anything.

When the day finally came, the sun rose from the east as it did any other morning. Spring’s proper warmth had come to the Scratchlands at last. Every company fell into formation, John’s and Tavros’s leading the way; every Royal, every Courtesan marched with their troops, for riding horses up the hill would render them useless, and to set them apart would be foolish, for they all fought for the same cause. As they climbed the mountain many pushed aside what they knew they would come to face and fancied it an early jaunt, taking joy in the remaining moments of peace. No one knew when to expect the Beforans, but it was better to be present than running up the summit late still pulling on one’s armor.

They did not have very long to wait. As the sun rose completely over the horizon they reached the top of the domed mountain, and on the other side they could see the tops of the heads of the approaching army, all horned, all in black once more. All were grim-faced and large, imposing from even a distance. They were not led by anyone, and if one looked down the mountain towards where they seemed to have come up, there was no evidence that they had trekked through the Scratchlands at all; nothing had been disturbed at the tree line and the tall grass was free of any deep, entrenched paths cut by marching soldiers. To Jane, it was all highly suspicious, but it had possible explanations. If their enemies had skills in the Arts, Space could have easily transported this group from miles and miles away. These Beforans could be based anywhere, and by having no trail they obscured that location. It would be so easy just to follow a trail of breadcrumbs and cut down the Benefactor, for without a leader how long could this rebellion last?

She did not have much time to dwell on it. As both armies came to a stop before each other, the Beforan forces began to ripple in something’s wake. Jane and Dirk, as the highest emissaries of their countries, were stationed with their troops behind John and Tavros and did not have the best view of what was coming. All they knew was that whenever it arrived at the forefront, all fell silent.

There was a stilted cough. “Uh, hey there…” A voice called out. It was surprisingly high, yet mature with a hint of gravel to it. “Good to see you made it…some of the others thought you might not show after Damara…but I figured you guys were pretty cool…wouldn’t leave us out in the cold like that…”

“Who is that talking?” Dirk hissed as the voice droned on. Jane shrugged.

“Beats me. You’re taller than I am, use that to your advantage-”

“All I can see out there is Tavros’s horns. Either he’s blocking the world’s shortest troll or he’s got a twin, because I don’t know who else it could be-”

Twin. The word pinged something in Jane’s mind, and she grabbed Dirk’s hand, catching him mid-tirade. “Pick me up,” She said, “Bend down and grab my legs and just heft me up, I have to see something-”

“You sure?”

“Positive! Come on, get to it buster!”

Dirk gave a suffering sigh. “The things I do for love,” He said, and bent down. If it were any other day Jane would have swatted his head, but things were too serious for a silly spat. As soon as his arms wrapped around her legs Dirk grunted and heaved her up, and Jane grabbed onto his shoulders immediately to steady herself, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes.

She saw the leading troops first, weapons mid-drawn in anticipation for the coming army, but no one moved to fully unsheathe their sword or release the safety latch on their pistols. Then there was John, who had stepped back towards the front lines, and then Tavros before him, completely still, and then she spotted him.

The figure at the head of the Beforan army was quite tall, built with a bull’s strength. He had wings, great big things, burnt orange that twitched and fluttered on their own, and bright red had been streaked in his hair, brash against the black; the theme continued in his clothes, black torn things with accents of red, and a vest lined with bones. He made for an intimidating rebel figure, but it was not that which struck terror into Jane’s heart. It was his horns. They were long and curved up at the end, exact mirrors of Tavros’s horns, and in a group of people with a feature as diverse as, say, a nose, those horns stood out as a marker of a troll, right next to their blood and hatchsymbol. No pair of trolls had similar horns – except, it seemed, for the Courtesans of Prospit and Derse with the Generals of Beforan.

That was why the troops had fallen into silence. That was why they let this General speak. They were all terrified of this bizarre mirror of someone they knew before them, challenging them in war. Had it been like this when Damara had taken the field? Had Aradia met her in the din and found herself too shocked by the double of her own face to keep herself from harm?

Something, Jane thought as Dirk set her down, was deeply and truly wrong.

At the front, this new Beforan General had continued to speak, unfazed that Jane had peered over the sea of heads to gawk at him. “But, anyway, I guess there’s not much to this…I’m the Benefactor’s Second General, and they call me Pupa Pan…but Rufioh’s good, too.” He held his hand up in greeting. “Sup?”

There was a sudden cry, and Tavros burst forth, running to this Rufioh with all his might, his lance swaying two and fro from its holster on his hip. John ran after him in a panic, hand tentatively grasped on the handle of his hammer. “Hey, wait, what’re you doing-”

“There’s no way, that _you,_ can be Pupa Pan!” Tavros exclaimed. He did not stop until he stood before his double, right in his face. Rufioh stepped back, and the troops behind him readied their weapons. “He’s supposed to be, the greatest, and most noble, of all the brownblooded trolls, not to mention, uh, I don’t know, kind of fake, or at least dead, for a really long time!” He jabbed a finger at Rufioh’s chest, and the Beforan forces bristled. “So don’t you go, running his name through the mud, like a big bully, especially, when you are looking at me like that, with my eyes, those are mine, and you better stop!”

“Looking at him…?” Jane turned to Dirk. “Would you-”

“No. It’d be better if we moved up closer to the action.” Dirk took Jane’s hand and began to push through the troops, all straining to see what was unfolding and yet too nervous to break rank. Jane frowned. Really, he had to stop wrapping up these opportunities for quips, this was not the time!

Before they could get very far, there was a sudden rush of stillness to the air. It sucked away all outward sound and sensation, and Jane’s hearing turned inward for a moment, caught up in the pounding of her own heart and the twinges of her body as it flexed and fluctuated. It was lost as quickly as it came in an intense push of wind, a column of turmoil that sent armies of both sides tumbling back like dominoes. It did not matter how firmly Jane and Dirk planted themselves, for those around them fell easily, and they fell with them. Those further back screamed out as they toppled down the mountain, the crunch of broken bone lost in the ferocity of the gusts. The only way to avoid the same fate was to stay low, and the two monarchs held onto each other as tightly as they could, squinting into the maelstrom that had plumed between the two parties as dust rose up to hide those inside of it.

“What the fuck is going on?” Dirk asked. If he had not been so close, the wind would have carried his voice too far for Jane to hear.

“I’m not sure,” She said, “But I think this is some sort of Breath power! I don’t think we can cut through that gale!”

Dirk grit his teeth. “So we’re just supposed to sit here until, what, we’re swept up in a magic tornado? I wasn’t counting on getting sent somewhere over the rainbow, Jane, this is complete bullshit!”

“Well I don’t see any other alternatives!”

And there weren’t. There was no way to forge forward and fight even if they wanted to, for the winds were too powerful and could very well fling them miles and miles away if they tried to challenge it. Everyone recognized that, and so they stayed low, they held fast to the grass and to each other, and they waited, whether for certain death or for salvation they could not know.

~*~

John only wished he were on the outside of this twister with the others. He had never feared The Windy Thing, not once, but that was because it had always been benign to him, gentle and encouraging, a way which he could step up into the grand expanse of the sky. But this was no ordinary Wind. This was full of fear and anger, whipping about John and Tavros and this troll called Rufioh with an unmatched strength – and it came from Tavros. The glow around him was strong, stronger than it had ever been before. He had tapped into something within him, it seemed, some potential that had yet gone unnoticed, and all because of…pain, perhaps? He had to be hurting to confront the Beforan so; he had reached out and grabbed Rufioh’s collar, caring not for the wide-eyed sorrow his double showed him. That kind of confrontation was not like Tavros at all.

“Listen little dude,” Rufioh said, “I’m not too keen on laying anything down on you…shit, that ain’t my style…I know we gotta fight and all…but I was hoping we could talk first…”

“I don’t want to talk to you!” Tavros said, cutting him off. “And I certainly, don’t think you have anything to say, that would change my mind right now! You are an imposter, and an insult, and I am not going to stand for it, even if my legs are fake!”

There was a sharp intake of breath, and the hairs on the back of John’s neck stood up as Tavros exhaled, cheeks puffed as he blew Rufioh back into the gale. It flung the Beforan about in the dust, obscuring him from view.

“What the hell are you doing?!” John exclaimed. He reached Tavros’s side and took him roughly by the shoulder. “I thought this was supposed to be a battle, not some kind of stupid grudge match! Dude, what’s gotten into you?”

He was met with a glare, and Tavros shrugged him off. “Nothing, has gotten into me,” He said, “That guy, is misrepresenting Pupa Pan, and, I can’t let anybody do that, because, Pupa Pan is my hero, and not a bad guy!”

So that was what it was – bruising of childhood pride. John suddenly felt the urge to smack his palm to his forehead, but he resisted with all of his might. “No offense, but that’s a really dumb reason to react like this!” He said.

“Well, if you think I’m dumb, then I think, you’re a lot dumber! You’re the one who said, if I remember correctly, and I know I do, that we were going to be, like Pupa Pan-”

“Yeah but I didn’t mean it literally! You were getting so down on yourself, we can’t head into this sort of thing believing we can’t win-”

There was more he wanted to say, but the words were lost on John when he felt the wind around them pick up in ferocity. The vortex tightened around them, and judging by how bewildered Tavros became, it was obvious that, even in his heightened state of emotions he had not added to The Windy Thing. But then who had?

They only had a moment to react. Rufioh shot out of the wind, lance in hand, and despite the turmoil of the wind his wings carried him with ease – it seemed his attempt at peace had been forgotten, and he was on the offensive. The only way to avoid the point of the lance was to jump into the wind themselves, and that was what they did, and in an instant they were torn apart, at the mercy of the passionate gale. In it there was little room for thought, only the struggle for one’s own power to put everything right again, to keep one safe against the arms of the enemy. It was a chaotic kind of faith that occupied all of one’s concentration, and John was desperate to regain control. The trolls’ Breath battered him on all sides, and he did not know up from down from left from right.

But perhaps he did not have to.

There was one trick John had never tried before. It reminded him of Jade’s warping, exciting and dangerous with just a dash of possibly mixing up one’s organs, and he had read of it only once. He had nothing to lose by trying, and everything to lose if he continued to be tossed about. So, John closed his eyes and cleared his mind, and bit by bit he dissipated into the wind, his clothes and hammer becoming extensions of himself, and then the raw power of nature. In it he had no corporeal body, his consciousness spreading throughout, tingeing the wind with his deep blue. In it he was aware of all the currents, and all that depended on them to stay above, though he could not hear or speak or see. All he had was feeling, and the barest netting of a mind to make sense of it all.

The dust and rocks he could block out – they were not interesting. It was the figures he focused on. One could phase to and fro from his grasp, wings like the softest scales pressed against his cheek. It was Rufioh, he realized, and part of him reached out to ensnare the troll in the winds, to keep him buffeted and stiff, to hinder his swoops and that long, nimble lance. The other figure, then, was Tavros, and the other part of John reached out to his friend, held him steady, pushed him away from the strikes Rufioh attempted to make. He didn’t want them to fight, per say, just to _stop_. If they stopped, they could calm down, and they could fight this war like they were supposed to and not send The Windy Thing careening off the mountain, or do anything that would endanger anyone else. John knew it intensified just with his presence, and he knew the two trolls poured all they had into keeping it going and to keep it strong…

And then it hit him. Tavros had called up the wind because Rufioh’s mere existence had upset him. If there was no more Rufioh, he would be calm, and so would the wind! And if one of the parties was out of commission, well, that would make it all stop, right?

There was no room for error or hesitation. John gathered himself around Rufioh when he was sure Tavros was stable in the wind, and as his parts stitched themselves together he did his best to shake the jarring feeling of solidity and bound spirit. Materialized hammer in newly-formed hands, he brought it up, up over the red-tinged head, and then down, down before Rufioh finally shook John’s lingering hold, and then –

**_CRACK_ **

All three of them dropped as Breath’s power suddenly plummeted, but only Rufioh fell with it, brown splattering the ground on impact. John let his Breath buoy himself and Tavros in place as they looked down, both in shock. The wind still obscured them from view, but the vortex loosened, its strength waning.

“Wow,” Tavros said at last. Just to hear something startled John, and he nearly lost his focus. “ _Wow_. You must’ve hit him, in the perfect spot, or he’d be getting back up by now.”

Brown dripped from the head of John’s hammer. He tried not to look at it. “Yeah. Yeah, uh…that was really lucky, huh?”

They were both silent for a moment, squinting down at their adversary. “I didn’t think, he would go down so easily,” Tavros said. “He’s supposed to be, or claimed to be Pupa Pan, and he doesn’t even, have the strength to keep going.” He gnawed on his lower lip. “I’m thinking, that it’s kind of odd, and that maybe, we should make sure he’s really dead, instead of just floating up here, like sitting quackbeasts.”

“I’m not going down there to check!” John said incredulously. “What if he’s alive? What if he tries to kill me?”

“I didn’t mean, just _checking_ …”

With a bit of effort, Tavros let his Breath wrap around him, and he positioned himself directly above Rufioh, lance aimed at the Beforan’s heart. John’s eyes widened when he realized what the troll was doing. “Hey, wait, _no_! That’s crazy! You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“It’s the only way,” Tavros said with a grunt. “To make sure, he is dead, and not alive.” His eyes flickered to John, bright with fear, and yet he smiled anyway. “I won’t let myself, hit the ground, because, I can catch myself, so don’t try to catch me John. I am going to be, okay.”

That was all he said before he let himself fall, lance pointed down, face set in grim determination. He could do this. He could bring down this imposter for good, he could throw the first strike of revenge for Aradia and for their people, he could –

The last thing Tavros ever saw was Rufioh’s eyes, open in slits, glimmering with the last of his strength, and the last thing he felt was a piercing pain through his own heart. The Windy Thing disappeared, and all that remained at the peak of the domed mountain was John, floating above the two trolls, both of whom had died the moment they skewered each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Well. Things got awful dark pretty fast, huh? Severed heads, aerial skewering! I bet you can't WAIT to see what happens next!
> 
> Okay I'm being cheeky. That's the only thing I'm sorry for.


	7. Helmsman

_“Hatchline?”_

_“Fish Pimp.”_

_The auxilliatrix raised one of her eyebrows, and her finely manicured nails, painted a green that straddled olive and jade, drummed on the clipboard in her hands. She looked entirely unimpressed, and that was such a shame. Sollux had spent months perfecting his pronunciation for that one phrase, and if she couldn’t appreciate that, then her life tending the Mother Grub was a sad existence indeed. He chuckled as she sighed through her teeth._

_“Sir,” She said tersely, “I still have about three hundred and seventy five individual trolls to sign in and sort into pailing time slots by_ caste _and_ quadrant _. My associates and I have been preparing for this brood’s pilgrimage all year, and a single flaw in the cogs will_ completely _throw off our organization. Your cooperation is not only appreciated, it is_ mandatory _.” A finger jabbed behind her, where, stationed against the wall, a defunct red monstrosity stood. “Must we activate the old drones in your case?”_

_He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Ruin my fun why don’t you.”_

_“It’s my job, sir,” She said with as little enthusiasm as it was possible to muster. “Hatchline?”_

_“Captor.”_

_“Given name?”_

_“Sollux.” He’d practiced that, too. She ran her finger down her list and checked him off._

_“Good to meet you, My Lord.” The title rolled off her tongue like something incidental, as if meeting nobility had not been on her list of things to do before her inevitable death, and her eyes never left the list. “It says here you’ll be contributing with Hatchlines Ampora and Peixes, is that correct?”_

_“Damn thtraight it ith. We thubmitted our paper, you thould know thith crap.”_

_“Double checking is a formality, My Lord,” She said. “You’d be surprised how many people forget who they’re paired with when faced with a pail. Not everyone is as fortunate in serendipity as you.” She clicked her tongue and scribbled something down, tearing off a strip of paper to hand to him. “Highbloods have priority, so you should be called down early on. Just look out for your numbers and don’t be late.”_

_Sollux examined the paper as another auxilliatrix shuffled him off, to where he did not pay attention. There was a number next to a small heart, and one next to a spade: they were ‘1’ and ‘3’ respectively. He was disappointed in the lack of twos, but not everything could fall so perfectly into place. As versed in Doom as he was, Sollux understood that well enough. A two would have been nice, though. It was his lucky number, a good omen from his grubhood, for wherever there was a two there were lucky breaks in games and discoveries, in sweets and loot and everything that counted. Perhaps the fact that Feferi and Eridan were both seadwellers was as good an omen as he could count on._

_He did not put the thought aside right away, not even when the auxilliatrix left him someplace new. It was a roomy sort of cave, furnished with comfortable piles and snacks that, upon closer examination, were aphrodisiac in nature. It was a kind of waiting block, he realized, and Sollux chuckled to himself._

_“God, thith shit’th ridiculouth,” He muttered, and shoved his hands into his pockets as he took up in one of the piles._

_For a time he lay alone, ignoring the trolls that shuffled in, all wide eyed and timid as they examined the block. Many of them were seadwellers, finely dressed and adorned, and they looked at Sollux like he was some sort of freakish oddity, whether they came from Prospit or Derse. The ocean was on the fringe of the kingdoms’ territories, so no matter the attitudes in the capitol cities there was bound to be prejudice towards him just for existing. He knew they thought him a pissblood, unworthy to speak for them in any royal court, but it didn’t matter – Sollux couldn’t care less of what they thought. He did his job, he did it well, and he deserved his spot in this pile; anyone who wanted to make the case for otherwise could suck his psiionic-charged bulge._

_Being flippant distracted him from his lack of twos for a moment, and he smiled and closed his eyes, relaxing into the pile. And then…_

_“You know, I don’t think these are the sorts of places we’re supposed to sleep.”_

_His eyes flew open. “AA?”_

_There was a laugh, and Aradia plunked down in the pile beside him. “Seems like we’re waiting buddies, huh? Who would have thought?”_

_“I think FF in your thpade made that happen,” Sollux said. He showed his slip of paper to Aradia. “Mutht be thome number range involved…and then a thorting…do you think they have an algorithm or thomething?”_

_“It’s probably convoluted, whatever it is,” Aradia said, and she passed her own slip to him. “Maybe if you ask nicely the auxilliatrixes will explain it to you?”_

_“Yeah no, they’re bitchy, I’ll athk KN about it later-”_

_But his words were lost at the sight of Aradia’s slip, and he had to blink to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. Next to Aradia’s spade, there was a perfect, distinct ‘2’, and next to the heart a ‘222’. His blood pusher pounded in his ears._

_“AA. You have twoth.”_

_“Yes, Sollux, I know.” She smiled wide. “I thought of you when I saw them!”_

_“…You have_ four _twoth.”_

_“Yes…is there something wrong?”_

_Something wrong? To any old troll it was just numbers and symbols, a genetic lottery ticket, but to Sollux it was more. Two was_ his _number. It spoke to him. And here were twos! Two sets of twos! Four twos! Two by two was four, four twos were eight, what did it mean, it had to mean something –_

_Aradia laughed again and tugged the slip from his fingers. There was a touch of wrinkled concern to her brow, and it made something spark in Sollux that he had not felt from her in some time. “You look like you’re about to overheat,” She said, “Are you okay?”_

_No, he wanted to say, I’m not. I may have made a terrible mistake. I feel as if I’ve forgotten who I’m supposed to face the pail with, let’s you and me get out of here to where the lowbloods are and flaunt ourselves, let’s blow this carbonated imbibement stand altogether!_

_But he didn’t say any of that. He sighed, and shrugged, and let pairs of twos spin around in figure eights in his mind’s eye as Aradia rolled her eyes and gave him a soothing pap-down._

_“It’s alright to have the jitters, you know. You can always tell me anything.”_

_“…Yeah. Thankth, AA.”_

~*~

There was much debate over the proper method of funeral. No one liked the idea of leaving Tavros and his double to rot in the spring sun atop the domed mountain, as troll tradition dictated, but a burial could insight the citizens into joining the rebellion. How dare you deny his cultural right, they would cry! His Ancestors’ memories spit upon you! But it was too hard on all of them to imagine Tavros decomposing, his flesh picked at by the crows. Better to put him in the dirt for the worms and flowers where it could not be seen, and they could remember him always as he was in life.

“AA would know what to do,” Sollux said – not for the first time, and not for the last. At least half of his fellows wanted to punch him for it.

Eventually someone proposed to ask the people in the surrounding town what they thought was best. No one was sure who had said it; it was the day after the battle, and all were weary with various weights of grief. The people were very sympathetic. The consensus was cremation, and a monument on the grounds for the ashes. This way, part of him would return to the earth, and part of him would stay with them, remembered and treasured. For Rufioh too they planned to construct a pyre, but when they trekked up the mountain to retrieve the bodies, only Tavros remained.

“They clean up after themselves,” Dirk said to Jane, dryly and without a smile. “How considerate.”

The pyre was made regardless, the wood from one large tree at the edge of the Scratchlands. Tavros’s personal troops constructed it around him so that no one would see him burn, their faces wet with tears. They had loved him dearly, and were just as heartbroken as the others to know that he was gone.

Once constructed, with the evening sky as backdrop, Jane led her family and Court to its edge, each with a flame of their own. No one could decide who to charge with lighting the pyre, so they all did so, and as night fell upon them Tavros rose into the sky for the last time, on wings of smoke and fire, and Derse watched solemnly as Prospit knit together. Gamzee was completely inconsolable, his head pressed into the junction of Karkat’s neck and shoulder, body racked with honking sobs; Vriska hunkered down at the foot of the pyre and bristled, knees pulled to her chest, and she only allowed Kanaya or Terezi to approach her; John’s breath was quiet and shallow, and Jane held him tightly while Jake kept his hand on John’s shoulder.

No one left until the pyre burned down to the cinders, and by then the dawn was still weak in the east and they were all nodding off in the grass. It went without saying that for that day nothing would get done, but once everyone had slept and cleaned themselves, they gathered to try and eat something, and talk flowed as easy as drink, spurred by a scramble to forget their grief.

“There’s something completely funny about this whole business,” Jane said, “First Lady Damara, and now that Rufioh fellow – they looked so much like the others, it can’t just be coincidence!”

“Well what the hell do you want us to say?” Karkat asked, jabbing his fork at his Queen, “The only way a troll could look so much like another troll is if they were Ancestor and Descendant, and we know that’s as impossible as a jibbering, froth-spewing grubfucker escaping a looneyblock with a metal whisk and a handful of mayonnaise. It’s ridiculous, absurd, and the situation could never even come close to happening in a million sweeps!”

Roxy gasped sharply. “Ho my gosh. Does that mean they’re _ghosts?!_ ”

“Ghosts don’t bleed,” John said. His words were hollow. “And…they don’t leave behind severed heads.”

“If only we could’ve checked one of their bodies,” Nepeta said perkily – of all things, she could be perky! Bless her heart – “Purrhaps they were not trolls at all! Or trolls who are purretending to look like our friends! What we need is an autopsy!”

“Do you think the Beforans will take us cutting up one of their Generals for investigation lightly?” Dirk asked. “Look, I’m not saying it’s a bad idea. It’s very smart theoretically. But these guys’ll kill even with their last breath. We’ve got to watch our asses if we’re looking to pull answers from their innards.”

Nepeta pouted. “It was just a suggestion, _sheesh_ ,” She muttered, and fiddled with her nails as her tail loped lazily back and forth. She leaned into Equius, who nodded and muttered as he patted her shoulder, most likely assuring her of the worth of her suggestion.

“Okay, so, w-where the fuck does that leawe us then?” Eridan asked. “Don’t be lookin’ at me to find your answ-wers, there’s only so much archiwes can tell a guy.”

There was a low, rumbling growl from across the table. “Then maybe some motherfuckers gotta all up and keep their gander bulbs to the grindstone,” Gamzee said, his diction at once lax and sharp, arms folded on the table and head propped behind them with a piercing, watery glare. “’Cause flappin’ gums _ain’t_ gonna help a brother none against these things dark and heretical. When you gonna show what work you got figured out, huh? When _your_ double comes knockin’ for your pusher?” He lifted his head slowly and cocked it some, lips drawn thin, and Eridan flared his fins threateningly.

“I ain’t got a _thing_ figured out! Don’t put any fuckin’ w-words in my mouth-”

Immediately, Karkat and Feferi leapt up from their seats and grabbed the shoulders of their respective moirails, shooshing and papping them before a single beat could pass, or the others could push their chairs back in preparation for a fight. A shiver still ran down Jane’s spine; the last thing any of them needed was an argument, especially with their spirits sunken so low.

Only one thing was absolutely clear. The plot thickened, whether they had the gumption to meet it head on or not.

~*~

A week passed. The weather grew warmer, the spring strengthening towards the summer, lush and green yet not quite there. Training resumed for the troops, though their hearts felt heavier than their boots. It was a quiet evening, and Dirk sat at the round table, a great many notes spread out before him. He was constructing a web, it seemed, every point a bit of information about their foes, and try as he might the strings were tricky to join, the epicenter still a mystery. He did not look up when the door opened, or when a soft patter of footsteps approached. Only when a handful of envelopes plopped beside his work did he stay his pen.

“We’ve got mail,” Jane said.

He sighed through his teeth, placing his pen down and leaning back into his chair. “Anything good?”

“I don’t know. I thought we might find out together.” Jane sat next to him and picked up the first envelope, flicking her thumb under a wax seal. “There are a fair amount of impressive crests. I think some of my coronation guests have decided to contact us.”

“You know, I don’t remember handing out this address.”

“They’ve been forwarded from Prospit,” She explained. Dirk nodded, eyebrows raised.

“How nice of your postal system.”

“Mmmm.” With little fanfare she pulled out the first letter, scanning its contents quickly before chuckling softly to herself. “My goodness! This is really something, you know? Their bottoms have been quite properly chafed, I think!”

“Do go on,” Dirk said, taking up his pen once more. “Read a bit. I want to know just how badly chafed their pampered rumps are.”

She laughed again. “Alright! Ah, this is from that elderly Duchess of that archipelago to the north –” Jane took a breath and adopted a high falsetto, lilting her words just so. “‘A display such as this has never been in all my years of attending royal functions, and I should hope my disappointment in the propriety of such a fledgling power does not have to be said to be felt’.”

“Wasn’t planning on inviting her to the wedding anyway,” Dirk said, “She smells like rotting azaleas and walks too slow. Next one.”

“Oh, that’s mean of you, don’t say that,” Jane said, but she took up another letter regardless. “Here’s one from that Chieftain of the southern deserts –” She gave a deeper voice this time, comically gruff and coming from the belly. “‘There is very little that can be deemed auspicious of this sudden announcement of a union. It is, in fact, highly suspect. If you have propositioned your neighboring King into this arrangement to dissuade my thirteen sons, I must confess that we shall not take it lightly, and deem to challenge His Majesty for your hand post haste’ –” Jane wrinkled her nose and stuffed the letter back in its envelope, flicking it across the table as Dirk sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _Eurgh_. Him I’ll have to respond to. The last thing you need is thirteen blowhards pounding at your door when you’re not even home.”

“You know,” He said, “I thought we partly agreed to this to throw people off of us, not make them try harder.”

“I really wouldn’t be surprised if a bundle of letters comes up for you from Derse,” Jane said, picking through the rest of her mail. “It will be full of perfumed envelopes and dried flowers and nasty accusations about me from all the ladies with designs on you. You’ll be accosted here if you don’t write back to each and every one, you know. Ladies are particularly tenacious.”

Dirk huffed. “Yeah, just my luck,” He said, “Are there any more interesting ones? I don’t want to think about wasting all that paper and ink.”

“I’m checking, I’m checking…” Jane opened another and read the letter. With every new word, her face grew more and more red, eyes widening to the size of saucers. “Oh my goodness!! Why…how _dare_ they insinuate that…”

She was rendered speechless, and Dirk dropped his pen again to pluck the letter from her shaking hands. “How dare who insinuate what?” He asked, and read it aloud for himself, choosing not to don any funny affection to the words. “‘As the Lord Representing the King of the eldest monarchy in the land…’ geez, these long-ass names, this must be from that mountain place in the west…” He paused and squinted, holding out the paper at arm’s length. “Oh my God. He just goes on and on. How many titles does this douchebag have? Has no one told him the importance of brevity? And this is coming from me-”

“Skip to the bottom,” Jane said. Her voice was muffled, her face in her hands. He breathed out hard through his nose, but he oblidged.

“‘The suddenness’ – is that a word? – ‘of your engagement announcement is not lost on me. As respect comes with the longevity of my family, it falls to me amongst all dignitaries to remind you both that a disgrace is still a disgrace, and that the international community will not tolerate a…’” Dirk stopped, drawing the paper close once more, his squint slowly turning to a scowl. “Oh, hell no. _Hell_ no. He thinks I got you pregnant.”

“I am _aware_ that he thinks you’ve gotten me pregnant!!”

Dirk hissed and ripped the letter in half without a second thought. “The fucking nerve,” He said, “That’s probably what they all think. ‘The international community will not tolerate a bastard child on the throne’ my ass – I know for a fact this guy is from the same family that regularly marries off girls out of wedlock to all sorts of dudes of power. Do they think we don’t do our research, for fuck’s sake?” With a grunt he threw the pieces into the air, and did not deign to pick them up where they fell. “As if that’s any of their business anyway!”

All Jane could do was nod weakly as he ranted, but not out of any sort of meekness. The blush had traveled to her ears and down her neck, and her mind had fallen into places it had never tread before.

There was no doubt in her mind that Jane loved Dirk dearly. She thought of him when they were apart and fretted over his well being, she cared when ill news of him came her way and rejoiced at the good. She did not doubt either that Dirk loved her much the same, no matter how oddly he may show it, but relations such as _that_ …she hadn’t dreamed of them. Not even as a child, when she fancied the make believe prince, did she ever think beyond a kiss, and when the real one’s lips met hers it seemed silly to want a thing more.

However – it could not be denied that, now mentioned, the prospect of lying together made itself known, and it loomed over her head as if it had always loomed, dark and just at the fringes of her comprehension. Did it loom over Dirk, too? Did he only now realize it, and tried to bury it with irritation? Or had he always known, known for so long, known until it was a fear that burrowed in his bones?

There was a silence between them. Dirk heaved a sigh, reached out to take another letter.

“Whatever. There’s probably a funny one in here, let’s try-”

But his words ran dry as the letter he grabbed came into view. It had lay under the others, obscured; it was plain with a circle seal. Jane’s heart leapt into her throat. Dirk’s fingers began to tremble, just a bit.

“Seems like this is going to be a regular thing, huh?” He said, his voice too light, too strained. Red bloomed in his own face, but for an emotion far from bashful. “It’d be nice if we could have a return address sometime, wouldn’t it? Give this guy a piece of our mind directly.” Dirk moved jerkily to open the envelope, nearly tearing the letter in half. “Good thing there’s no severed heads this time-”

He went still when Jane’s hands held his, prying away the letter. “I’ll read it,” She said. “Sit.”

“I really don’t want to-”

“ _Sit_ ,” She said again, and pushed Dirk gently into his chair. “You look ready to pop.” He made to stand, but she pushed him back again and watched him, eyes chiding, until Dirk relaxed into the seat. Only then did she open the letter to scan its contents. “…There’s very little in here of note,” She began, hollow and biting, “He’s congratulating us again. Apparently, John’s life has ensured us a point of victory over the Beforans.”

“Whoop-dee-fuckin’-doo.” Dirk fidgeted in the chair. “A point as in a game, I assume.”

“He does like to use that word for it. Leaves a bad taste in the mouth.” She clicked her tongue and continued. “The next battle will be between users of the Art of Doom. He wishes us well until the ides…” Jane flipped the paper over, examining the back, before she folded the letter in half. “And that’s all. So who among us knows Doom? None of mine.”

“It’s on my end – Sollux,” Dirk said. His eyes had fallen to his incomplete web. “Guess we’ll have to tell the others.”

“I guess so. Lord Captor first, though. I think he deserves to know first, come on.” She made to leave the table, her mind listing the few haunts Sollux had acquired in the citadel, but when Dirk did not make to follow her she stopped. “Is something wrong?”

The stare Dirk gave the web could have burned a hole through its paper. He did not respond for a moment, lost in thought, and then in a flurry he picked up his pen again. “The order of the battles,” He said, “Run it by me.”

Jane blinked. “You mean the order of the Arts? Time, Breath, and now Doom – Aradia, Tavros, and Sollux. Dirk, why-”

“They’re in ascending order,” Dirk said, and he began to scribble furiously. “All lowblooded, but Aradia’s bottom tier, then it’s Tavros, now Sollux – or it could be alternating between Derse and Prospit? Maybe we’d need one more battle to be sure.” He paused to draw more lines in the web, and Jane returned to his side once more. “I dunno. There’s got to be a pattern somewhere. A method to this guy’s madness. We’ve got to be able to crack something, why not know who to focus our preparations for war on before we get any more of his condescending correspondence?”

It was a good hunch, she thought – that or an indication of the beginnings of madness. Jane couldn’t tell which with Dirk. As it was, she did not know if she had it in her to make him put the pen down, for that same passion to unravel the Beforans thrived in her too, and she took a seat next to Dirk and watched him cast his web, questioning his connections as best she could, to test them, to be absolutely sure.

Sollux could wait a little longer.

~*~

The funny thing was, Sollux already knew. He didn’t know the way a Seer would know, steeped in the murky waters of their Art, dependant on the right intent to see clearly. He knew by way of fate’s design, for that was all Doom was. Everyone else had their means to it, but he held the end.

In reality, it wasn’t much to shake a stick at. His psiionics could do more damage. Common magics, things supposed scholars spent lifetimes tracking down in archives and old wives’ tales had more power to them than Doom, and so he knew them too, his arsenal comprised of anything and everything that could be used to his advantage. But to Sollux it all meant nothing if it didn’t add up, and that was where Doom came in, allowing him to see the subtle signs, the brain power to calculate their grand total. That was all he had to do. It was all he’d _done_ , ever since that day in the waiting block, with Aradia’s four twos and his one and three.

_It means something_ , thought one part of him.

_It means **shit**_ , thought the other.

With Aradia unconscious, the parts of him only argued worse, and louder, and it had gotten to the point where Sollux muttered both sides to himself in increasing harshness, paper and pen always in his hands, working out tables and charts and equations and lines upon lines of attempted codes. He sat across from the picture frame in the grass corridor, the ground around him littered with crumpled attempts.

“It’th all the thame,” He said to himself, “It’th all coming out the thame, there hath to be a dithcrepanthy thomewhere, why ith there none – _shit_ , fucking goddamn it!!”

Sollux threw his latest attempt at the picture frame and pushed himself up, swaying on his feet as numbers buzzed in his head like honeybees. It wasn’t that nothing made any sense when he went to find fate’s end, but that it made perfect sense without a single hiccup or loophole he could use. The longer his number strings, the more solid it all became, and he could find no variable to make it change. He staggered to the door with his hatchsymbol on it, leaned against it and looked down the corridor. Aradia’s tower was two doors down. He wished she was there. He wished he could climb up her stairs and fall into a pile and have her pap it all away. He also wished he could slip into her recuperacoon, play around in the slime like a couple of dumb kids just figuring themselves out.

Quadrant vacillation was a bitch.

“AA,” He breathed, “What do I _do_? How do I _thave_ you?” There was a beat, and he laughed weakly, reaching for his doorknob. “How do I thave _me_?”

~*~

The latest ides were warm. It was the time of year when summer was on the precipice, and yet the heat had crept in to make itself known, creating a foothold that made the air stick in one’s lungs as the season progressed. Already many missed the spring. Some even longed for the future, when autumn would push the heat aside to clear the path for winter. But for now, there was heat, and it would only grow worse.

Marching up the domed mountain proved to be arduous, especially for the troops in armor. Many tried to slip off helmets or gauntlets, sweat already gleaming on their skin, but Karkat moved through them all and berated them until they bit back their tongues and put up with it.

“Go back to your guyth, KK,” Sollux said when he spotted the General’s nub horns among his company. His fingers pressed hard at his temples. “I can handle thith mythelf.”

“If your shit sniffing frond lickers end up with fatal injuries because they’re not properly protected, so help me-”

Karkat’s voice squawked into silence as Sollux plucked him out of the throng, grip tight on the General’s collar. “Tho help you ith right if you don’t _fuck off_ ,” He said in a snarl, “I can’t deal with thith right now. I can’t deal with _any_ thing right now, okay?”

The General balked. “This isn’t just your fight you know. This is everyone’s deal. I get that you’ve been a cranky bastard for months now, but you need to put on your big troll pants and deal with it-”

“I’m the only one they want, KK, unlethh the trend before thith wath lotht on you-”

“Boys, _please_ ,” Jane called from her position with the troops. Again she and Dirk were right behind the leading Art. “Save that breath for battle! We’re barely halfway up the mountain as is!”

They separated, reluctantly. Karkat wound his way back to his troops and glared at anyone and everyone as he passed, prompting many to fasten their armor tighter and grit their teeth against the sweat that dripped down their backs.

Again, nothing waited for them at the top of the mountain, and after a moment there was a crackle of Space from the other side. Soon the Beforans began to lope up the hill, and Jane eyed them critically. The first thing that struck her was that there were so few of them, perhaps a dozen or so trolls in total. The second thing was that they wore no armor at all, preferring clothes that were thin and black with accents of varying shades of yellow. They moved with ease, and Jane could feel jealousy roll off of the troops around her with how cool and free their enemy seemed – there had to be a reason for it, she thought, more than just an attempt to rile them.

“Looks like they’ve got a team of psiionics with them,” Dirk said, peering over the heads of troops on his tiptoes. “Must be a powerful bunch if they’ve got so few of them.”

“But what could they hope to accomplish?” Jane asked. “Do you really think they could keep the rest of us back with their powers?”

“They must think so,” Dirk said. He sniffed. “Cocky bastards.”

The Beforans came to a stop just before them, lining up and rolling their shoulders, red and blue sparking at the corners of their eyes. None of them spoke or came forward as leader, as if they were trying to create a standoff. Unfortunately for them, Sollux did not have the patience for it. He pushed his troops out of the way and stood his ground at the front.

“Alright. I know he’th one of you athhholeth. Where ith he?”

The Beforan psiionics went still. There was a crackle of power from Sollux that made everyone shiver.

“I’m not playing a fucking guethhing game with thith shit! Bring your General out!”

“He should be here,” Said one of the psiionics then, a fellow with antennae-like horns and a pencil mustache. He looked between the others, who slumped and rolled their eyes in exasperation. “He came with us, right? _They_ made doubly sure he was-”

Suddenly there was a loud shout, garbled and startling, and everyone on the domed mountain nearly jumped out of their skin as one last troll pulled himself up to the peak. He was thin and bony, his hands moving in erratic jerks, and his head lolled from the weight of an impressive helmet and visor. The only things visible were his mouth, half twisted in a yell, and his horns, carbon copies of Sollux’s unique pair.

Jane felt a shiver roll down her spine – it was _another_ double!

“Ffffucking too _fatht_ ,” The new troll garbled, scattering the Beforans as he came to the front. “Nookfarting bulgethtainth gotta go _thhhlower_!! God damn-” Suddenly there was a shift, as if an invisible string pulled him straight, yanking out his frustration to let other feelings seep in. He hunched his shoulders, and his voice became tiny. “Augh, I’m…thhhhhorry…for yelling…too much yelling…”

Sollux let out a long-suffering sigh. “Oh _cripeth_ ,” He said under his breath, “He’th pan-fried.”

The Beforan jerked again, his mouth working into a snarl. “ _Hey_ , hey, I am _not_ …I am motherfffucking _Mituna Captor_ , okay, the Helmthman of Doom, fffuck you, guy, go fffuck yourthelf, you talk funny _and_ you thmell, lithping dipsssshit-”

“You can’t even thmell me from there through your helmet, moron, and you lithp worthe than I do! There’th no room for _you_ to talk!”

Red and blue crackled through the air, and Jane could feel her hair stand on end as the two shouted at each other. They were goading each other on, and the louder they got the more psiionics tingled on her skin. The troops could feel it too, through their armor, and the handful of Beforans who stood before them locked their eyes on them, all coursing with red and blue.

“Oh God,” Dirk muttered beside her, “If they keep going at it, they’re going to tear each other apart.”

Jane tightened her hold on her trident. “There’s no way we can allow that! We’ve got to stop them!”

“Then tell me if you can even take a step forward right now.” Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and Jane looked down; one of Dirk’s legs shook. “I’ve been trying for five minutes now. I can barely budge.”

Panic spiked in Jane’s chest, and now she tried too, but her body would not obey her commands, feet firmly planted on the ground as if they intended to sprout roots. They had underestimated the Beforans. “This is insanity! We can’t just stand by and let them kill each other!”

“I know that.” Dirk grimaced, eyes narrowing behind his spectacles. “But I’m starting to think that’s exactly what the Benefactor planned to happen.”

And then, in a plume of red and blue, everything went silent.

~*~

It was a moment too quick to be recounted, too obscured to be seen with any eye or through the lens of any Art, but it would linger in Sollux’s memory forever, burned into his synapses in startling clarity – that is the only way it can be retrieved to be told.

After all, he had never seen such a show of bravado before. And he had courted Eridan Ampora in a serious quadrant!

The psiionics that pushed at the others – the troops, his peers – were only tastes of the strength of those this Mituna had brought with him. The rest of it went to Mituna himself, coursing through his body in a very convincing attempt to make him seem incredibly powerful, like a God among Trolls, and he could wield it too, just barely. It was as if there was some part of him that knew what psiionics of this magnitude could be capable of and how to move them around, so it was very possible that Mituna once held great power, but the red and blue was tinged with too many touches to just come from one mind.

Sollux had been right in assuming that his enemy’s think pan was long gone, but this? This was just the saddest display, and he had to put a stop to it before anyone got hurt. They _would_ get hurt, too, if the power ran rampant. Mituna slung it in all directions with no regard for where it went, and if he lost hold of the minimum of control he had…well, Sollux hadn’t the time or the stomach to think about it.

But it was okay. The numbers had told him how to win, and though his personal outcome was uncertain, it was the only way the chips could fall. What a shame it was, he thought, reaching into a pocket inside of his vest, that fate may not let him see the end. There should have been time for a snappy quip, one last nugget of snark from Lord Sollux Captor, but his mouth opened only to suck dry a vial of sticky, golden sludge.

Under no ordinary circumstances was a psiionic to ingest Mind Honey, a powerful mental stimulant outlawed in Derse and rampant in its black market. But this was no ordinary circumstance, and to neutralize this bunch Sollux needed to push himself beyond his limits.

The Honey fizzed traveling down his throat, and as its energy coursed through his veins his memory went black. All that could be seen from the outside of the plume of psiionic power were two distinct beams, one red and one blue, that cut through its back and scattered the Beforans, unceremoniously ripped from their connection to their leader.

The power cleared, and all could see the jittering, jerky husk of Mituna Captor, moving only from the remnants of psiionics as they left his body.

Opposite, Sollux lay very still indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this my best work? No, not in the least. I can never do Sollux justice. But at least he's put on a bus in the most badass way possible.
> 
> I highly doubt I'll get another chapter out before 4/13, so I preemptively wish you all a good one!


	8. Insufferable

_“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move aside.”_

_“I shouldn’t_ have _to move aside! You should have my name in your system –_ I’m _the guy who got in contact with you breeder bureaucrats in the first place!”_

_Whoever could look as far as the front of the line looked to him, small and shouting at the top of his lungs, cheeks flaring an unnatural red, less from frustration and more from sheer embarrassment. The auxilliatrix glared at him and snapped her gum, leaning towards more teal than emerald._

_“Sir,” She said again, “Aside._ Please _.”_

_General Karkat Vantas dug his heels into the ground…or, well, as best one could in solid stone. “Go choke on grub molt.”_

_There was a moment in which the auxilliatrix’s fingers twitched, where she took a deep breath and glanced back at the sillohuettes of giants that lined the walls. Karkat knew very well what those things were. In the annals of troll history, they were a terrifying footnote, a daymare monster lusus chittered stories of to their charges, when trollkind first pulled itself up from the dredges. The drones once traveled the lands of Prospit and Derse before they had those names, collecting their due for the Mother Grub and squashing out the unpaired, the infirm._

_The mutant._

_He relaxed his posture, and the auxilliatrix did too._

_“We will put you into the system if you_ come aside _, Sir,” She said, “We know very well who you are and who you’ve come with. The whole lot of you are causing mayhem in our archives! Do you know how much the Mother is thrown off when hatchlines that she hasn’t processed in sweeps enter the slurry?” Her brows shifted, and for a moment she looked pitiable. “Please. There hasn’t been a cull in the caverns for the past two brood visits now. We’re trying to keep that going.”_

_She didn’t want to help him like this. That much was certain, because Karkat knew the call in his own blood, the wrongness of it. An auxilliatrix was born to rake through the gene pool. He was an anomaly, and she should have him slaughtered, as was custom, but something, it seemed, held her back. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it, and wouldn’t dare look a gift hoofbeast in the mouth._

_Karkat was led down to a musty cobwebbed cavern where it seemed a million files were kept, a troll for every imaginable hue, some sections thicker with ancestry than others, some with only one entry entirely. As his thumb was pricked and printed, a new folder made with ‘VANTAS’ written in exacting letters on the tab, Karkat couldn’t help but let his eyes wander about the living, breathing history of his people around him.._

~*~

“His breathing’s really shallow. Heartbeat’s weaker than a limp noodle, too. But the town doctors say he’s alive.”

Dirk said these words with solemnity, but they gave the others a semblance of relief. They had assumed the worst of Lord Captor when they saw him upon the ground, mustard blood pouring from every orifice. He had been cleaned up as best as possible and shuffled off to the doctors post haste, hoping against hope that they could do something to save him.

“So is he just taking a n-nap, then?” Feferi asked. Her own eyes were dewy with tyrian tears, and Eridan did not begrudge her from using his cape as a tissue to blow her nose. “He’ll rest and, and wake up and be with us soon, r-right?”

Dirk shook his head. “That’s where they’re not sure. He’s not just sleeping off an injury, he went through copious amounts of brain trauma. A vial with Mind Honey residue was found on his person – dude knew what he was getting into. To use that much concentrated psiionic power at once, I’m surprised he’s _only_ in a coma.” He paused, chewed lightly on his tongue. “The doctors…don’t know if he’ll wake up. Or if he’ll even be the same guy if he does.”

Trolls and humans looked between each other, wordless. The frantic, slurring Mituna was not easily forgotten, even if they only saw him briefly.

A weary sigh whistled through Dirk’s nose, and he planted the heels of his hands on the edge of the table. “I take responsibility for it in Aradia’s absence,” He said, “As his King. We’ll…lay him up with her, keep a doc around to report any changes. Maybe there’s a chance they’ll recover.”

“I think you’re bankin’ too much on chances,” Eridan said. There was a note of cold bitterness to his bearing. “As proficient in Hope as I am, I think I’m the one to know-w w-when all hope is lost.”

“And what would you suggest I do, Ampora?” Dirk asked, leveling his stare. “All ears over here.”

“Honestly? If all they got to look forw-ward to is droolin’ on themselwes in the prime a their liwes, you’re better off cullin’ ‘em both.”

There was a sharp gasp from Feferi, and she yanked hard on Eridan’s cape, making him gag. “How DARE you even suggest that!” She exclaimed. “He’s your KISMEFISH! Not even hate as dark as the deepest trench-”

“I’m not sayin’ it out of _hate_!” Eridan pulled back his cape from her fingers, and she looked forlorn without it, tears dripping down her cheeks. “I’m sayin’ it out of common glubbin’ sense, Fef! Ara’s been out for tw-wo months, God fuckin’ _know-ws_ how-w she’s still aliwe! They’ll both die in their sleep before they w-wake up, mark my fuckin’ w-words!”

Jane pushed back from the table, a reprimand on her tongue. It didn’t matter if Eridan was technically Dirk’s responsibility – he’d gone too far with that suggestion. But before she could even begin, Karkat stood up and stared the seadweller down with a bearing that suggested complete dominance. Eridan shut his mouth immediately, though his fins flared in defiance.

“Okay, no,” Karkat said. “Not fucking cool. It’s bad enough we have an entire political clusterfuck out for our pathetic asses – we are _not_ taking out any one of our own. I don’t care if Sollux is a fucking vegetable for the rest of his life, we’re not putting him down like an aging barkbeast that shits itself because it can’t stand!” His hands jerked as if to slam onto the table, but he held them back. “That’s just… _dumb_! That is so dumb and you know it! It’s dumb six hundred and twelve ways to the next perigee for twice as many reasons!”

“Then w-what the fuck do w-we do-”

“Don’t start! Don’t even fucking start with me! Dumb people don’t get to talk while the General is talking!”

Gamzee reached out to grab the hem of Karkat’s shirt, and he tugged it lazily. “Hey now, Karbro, hey-”

The hand was swatted away. “Don’t you ‘hey’ me, you irredeemable sack of polka-dotted fecal matter, I am calm, okay? Cool as a cylindrical vine gourd. I just…” He sighed. “I think you and I need a talk, Ampora. Now.”

Eridan raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“A talk,” Karkat repeated, “A _chat_ about what is and what isn’t okay, because at the moment you’ve got your head so far up your nook I’m surprised you haven’t suffocated yet, and nobody here looks like they want to sit through it if they don’t have to.” He left the table, ignoring how his chair toppled in his wake. “Prospit caravan. Now.”

He did not pause to wait for Eridan, who scrambled out of his own chair and looked between the retreating General and their wide-eyed peers, confusion deflating his rancor. What did Karkat have to say that he couldn’t in front of everyone else?

When Eridan finally caught up to Karkat, he found out. They had just left the castle, and the caravans had been stationed not too far away. “Look, I get where you’re coming from,” Karkat grumbled, looking to and fro as if wary for eavesdroppers, “I know – culling – I know it was a thing for trolls since their beginning. I know it’s still a thing in some parts of Derse, in extreme situations.”

“And this is pretty fuckin’ extreme,” Eridan added. Karkat glared at him out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ve seen extremer.”

“Is that ewen a w-word? Doesn’t sound like one.” He puffed himself up as Karkat scrunched his nose in scorn. “And w-where did you see w-worse? In a play?”

“Hey, Troll Rent is one of the most acclaimed productions concerning modern biological deviants of our day! If an immunodeficiency virus spread through bodily fluids isn’t case enough for on-the-spot culls, what is?”

“Fiction and real life ain’t the _same_ , Kar,” Eridan stressed, “And shit like that’s pretty fuckin’ high on the list of things trolls are actually culled for. Stop takin’ your plays as the end-all a society, I’m tellin’ you that right now-w, it’ll sawe you a lot a heartbreak.”

They had reached the Prospit caravan. Research on the Beforans – done mostly by the two of them, with random bursts of hindrance from the others – had moved here when Aradia was knocked unconscious, in order to give her peace while she recovered. As such, Karkat’s tiny corner was filled with books and papers, piled high and organized in a way only they understood. It reminded him of his respiteblock at home, really. There was barely any room for himself.

Karkat grumbled as he led the way inside. “Whatever. Nobody outside the walls has to know they’re unconscious. The soldiers won’t tell if they know what’s good for them. No word goes out to the world until anybody’s undeniably and unreliably dead. Those are the orders that I’m decreeing right now.”

He didn’t have the authority to do that, per say, but Karkat doubted the others would have a reason to argue with him about it. Eridan sighed.

“ _Fine_ , fine. W-whatewer you w-want, Kar, no cull call. I’ll sw-wear Ahab’s Crosshairs on it.”

Karkat sniffed. “That your credo now?”

“W-Why not? I lowe my gun.”

The General shook his head to hide the grin that crept onto his face, and they both gathered around his recuperacoon, plucking papers and books from the mess. “Well, speaking of mass cullings,” Karkat began, “I think we were looking through hemo-genocides the last time we were here?”

The seadweller nodded in agreement, flipping through a tome to a marked spot. “The Rainbow-w Death durin’ the first instance of that w-weird reincarnation,” He said, “The Megido at the time flipped her pan and slaughtered nearly half the troll populations of Prospit and Derse combined. W-Whoewer w-wrote dow-wn the account compared it to a mass cull of bloodlines in the nation of _Beforus_.” He clicked his tongue. “Sounds enough like Beforan for me. But they don’t giwe a _date_ for the mass cull, that’s w-what gets me.”

“It’s gotta be Pre-Cherubim, or at least close enough to the time they appeared for it to be remembered,” Karkat said. If only they had something more to go on, they could pinpoint where it might be advantageous to look. “We might have to trek back up to the caverns and ask to look through their archives. They’ve got loads of ‘em there, just collecting dust.”

“You think they’we got stuff dated back that far?” Eridan asked. Karkat shrugged.

“They might, I don’t know. I had to go down there to be registered-”

“So that’s w-why it took you so long to show-w up!”

A bright blush bloomed on Karkat’s cheeks, and he pushed his face further into his papers. “Y-Yeah, well. I didn’t exactly look through their shit, the auxilliatrix already kind of wanted to see me splattered on the cavern walls and I didn’t want to piss her off, but I bet if we had access to the files and enough time, we could find something.”

Eridan groaned. He flopped back dramatically, leaning against a precarious pile. “You know-w that’s like findin’ a needle in a haystack, right? You’d hawe to trace back ewery single hatchline until you found the right one, and giwen these periodic bouts of standin’ around gapin’ like sea bass while a couple of us go at it with these Beforans, I doubt w-we’d find anythin’ until it’s all ower and done w-with!”

He was right, and Karkat hated that. Even with the others helping them, trolls and humans combined (if humans were even allowed in the brooding caverns, royal or otherwise), they would find out more from battling the Beforans than they would flipping through files. There had to be something they could do, though, somewhere they could start –

And that was when Karkat remembered _It_.

He hadn’t shown _It_ to anyone, or said that _It_ was in his possession. To have _It_ at all surely called for his arrest, at the very least, but…how could his fingers not be sticky when he laid eyes on _It_? Could anyone blame him?

Slowly, he reached in the space behind his recuperacoon. “Well,” Karkat said, “We might as well try with…what we have available. Right?”

“Kar, the fuck are you talkin’ about, w-we don’t hawe shit-”

“ _You_ don’t.” He pulled _It_ out, a good size file, the hatchline long crossed out but the thumbprint still bright on the tab – an unnatural lime green. “I do.”

Eridan ogled the file for a long time, his eyes growing wider with every passing second. His mouth flapped open and closed like a gaping fish. “W-What…the _fuck_ …is that?” He finally choked out, pointing shakily at the file.

“What does it look like, a grub photo album?” Karkat flipped it open. “It’s a hatchline’s records, you dumbshit.”

“And how-w the fuck do _you_ hawe it?!”

“I asked nicely and threw in a few political favors, how do you think I got it?” Karkat growled out his words with increasing irritation. “I stole it, duh! Kind of out of curiosity, mostly out of stupidity, because Past Me is a bulge-blighted loser lord. Honestly, who fucking cares anymore? Don’t tell me you won’t at least give it a look.”

The seadweller was quiet for a long time. He eyed the file warily, the lime blood making his fins flatten and shiver for reasons he could not explain. Finally he snatched the file out of Karkat’s hands, whetting the tips of his thumb and forefinger before flipping the pages to their beginning. “Yeah, okay. W-whatewer. It’s here, right? Might as w-well.”

“Good.” Karkat shifted, leaning back against his ‘coon and lowering his eyes. “Don’t…don’t tell anyone I took it.”

Violet eyes scanned the page before flicking to the next. “Didn’t intend to.”

“I’m serious, okay?” Karkat rubbed at his face, as if he could rub away the heat from his cheeks. “I kind of found it on accident. There were others around the same hue, but this one was just sort of…calling to me, you know? Like it wanted me to find it. I don’t know. That’s stupid, files can’t call out shit.”

“W-Well I can see w-why,” Eridan said, “All the names’re obscured. It’s like somebody didn’t w-want others to know-w this hatchline ewer existed. W-woulda been smarter to burn the thing instead.” He narrowed his eyes and peered closely at the text. “Carp on a cracker, ewen the symbol’s been blacked out.”

The General shifted again, ignoring the urge to lean forward and look through the file himself. Reading the contents tended to send shivers through his body. “If I remember right, I don’t think it’s been updated since before the Cherubs arrived, and the files in the same hue looked just as neglected. I think that pool of limeblood might have been eradicated at some point in the past. I mean, it’s just a hunch, but…why’re you looking at me like that?”

Indeed, Eridan had paused from his reading, taking in Karkat’s posture and expression. “Kar,” He said slowly, “W-were you…lookin’ for w-where you mighta mutated from?”

There was a pause, and Karkat scoffed, turning away. “Yeah right. I’m an anomaly, okay, a genetic blip in the radar. I didn’t come from anything.”

“Bullcarp, Kar, ewerybody comes from somethin’.” Eridan looked back to the file and flipped to another page. “And ewery troll w-wants to know-w that, ewen if Ancestors ain’t somethin’ they put a lot a stock into. Maybe you got your genes from somebody, and somethin’ happened, and they can’t trace it back because it’s been obscured.” He tapped the crossed out name on the tab. “This coulda been your ancestral line. Not that I think you’d get that lucky, just pickin’ it up at random, but hey. It called to you. It’s gotta be important.”

Karkat did not respond; save for the pair’s soft breath and the flick of turning pages it remained silent. The others must have thought they were fighting. They probably had the old town doctor at the ready with bandages and needles and thread to patch them up after their supposed feud. He almost felt sorry they’d be a disappointment in that regard –

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Holy glubbin’ _Horrorterrors_ ,” Eridan said. He pulled a sheet of paper from the file and let the rest drop to the ground. Karkat scrambled to pick the file up.

“Hey, be careful, you’re gonna get it dirty-”

“Did you ewer look at this?” Eridan asked. He shoved the paper in Karkat’s face. “Did you ewen know-w it w-was in there?!”

“I don’t even know why you’re freaking out, take a fucking breath!” The General snatched the paper from the other troll and glanced at it – he had to do a double take. The paper seemed to be a government document, written in blocky lettering that Karkat had encountered only a handful of times before in his research. It was the language of the trolls, an artifact of antiquity from long before the Cherubs had arrived. It was signed in tyrian, the name something he could not make out, and he had to remind himself to breathe. “Oh wow. Oh God, oh fuck. What the fuck.”

“Can you read any a that?”

“Not a bit.” Karkat glanced up at Eridan warily. “You?”

Eridan snatched the paper back. “Plenty,” He said, “Taught myself. Part of bein’ a historian and all.” He took a deep breath, his fins fluttering, before he looked harder at the document. “This is…a cull call, for sure. A decree ewen. Signed by somebody close to Fef’s hue, looks like…” He narrowed his eyes. “‘Let it be know-wn that’ – ah crap, the name’s scratched out – ‘Along w-with their fellow-ws of lime caste, has been found guilty of…’ I think it says treason, I’m not sure …‘And is sentenced to culling at the hands of the Grand Highblood of Beforus.’”

Karkat could have fainted right then and there. He propped a hand against his ‘coon and gave a low whistle. “Looks like…this is the hemo-genocide we’ve been looking for.”

~*~

Despite the breakthrough, finding more about the mysterious entity of Beforus was still as much an uphill battle as their now monthly climbs up the domed mountain – but they had an idea of a date range now, and it all centered around that bright lime thumbprint. Any mentioned instance of limeblooded trolls in any material was demanded from the libraries and archives of both Prospit and Derse, sending the servants there in a tizzy as they labored over the numerous texts. Packages began to trickle in, carried by couriers whose horses galloped so fast they dropped like flies in exhaustion once they stopped, panting as if they had never drawn breath and feverish with exertion.

Even the brooding caverns complied with the demand, every single lime file pulled and cleaned and sent to them, Karkat’s insistent request made through Kanaya’s emerald text. It was better than she ask the auxilliatrixes, for her hue was the most vibrant of her caste, and they would heed their prodigal sister. It was blood politics, and it was sticky, foul business; it was a unanimous opinion that the less of it they used the better.

Everyone helped to look through the material, human and troll, forgoing as much food and sleep as they could without causing harm. Though there was so little they could make use of, it was imperative that no stone be left unturned, and what better way to be sure of that than look through it all with fifteen sets of eyes? This way, each instance of lime blood was tabbed, notes piled as high as their references. Such intense focus pinned them that no one had noticed when a letter appeared.

Well, almost no one.

Jane looked up from a particularly heavy tome, a headache casting its roots into the crevices of her mind. Nothing she read stuck, as if a wall had come down to keep all information from being processed. She looked on her fellows, heads bowed in study, but saw nothing until clarity descended on her, latching onto the envelope resting on the top of the most recent delivery at the center of the table. Even from here she could spot that circle seal.

“He’s done it again!” She exclaimed, tossing the book aside and clamoring onto the table. Everyone jumped and looked at her as if she had gone mad. “Mocking us – just as we’re trying to unravel his secrets! Oooh, I hate this Benefactor!!”

Dirk’s eyes widened, and the file in his hands slipped from his fingers. “Oh my God, you’re fucking kidding me. _Again_?”

“ ** _Again!_** ”

Jake groaned from his spot at the table, and he slumped over the book in front of him. “You know, I used to think this was awfully gentlemanly of our enemy, sending us a head’s up. Now I think it’s plumb-diddly ridiculous. There’s no way real wars are fought like this!”

“It’s all the more staging he needs to make it his ‘game’,” Rose said in return. She had not given the letter a single glance. “He’s giving us terms for every ‘round’, as it were.”

“Yeah, but we’re going to get a step ahead of him this time.” Dirk motioned for Jane to give the letter to him, and she did so, glad to get the awful thing out of her hands. “This little piece of paper is going to determine how we prepare for these things from here on out. We’ll break the code for this guy’s pattern, and he won’t know what hit him.” He held the envelope to his forehead briefly. “In fact, I’m sure I know what Art is going to fight next already.”

The only gasps came from John and Roxy, but a tenseness settled around everyone. “You really believe we could figure out how to plan that far ahead?” Kanaya asked. Dirk nodded.

“Positive. Watch.” He flicked a thumb under the wax seal and opened the envelope. “I am one hundred and ten percent, without a single doubt, certain that the next battle is for myself and Nepeta.”

There was a distinct groan of a chair as Equius put his arm around his moirail, who looked between him and Dirk with wide eyes. “What makes you say…that Nepeta will be fighting?” He asked, his voice a low and growling threat.

“Because,” Dirk said, letter unfurled in his hands, “This guy’s sending his troops by Art, in an ascending order of the hemocaste.” He paused to let that sink in, the quirk of his lips smug and satisfied, before he finally began to read the contents of the letter. “It makes sense. Araida was first, then Tavros, then Sollux, so now it’s…”

But he did not finish his sentence. His eyes roamed back and forth across the paper, once, twice, three times. He blinked and rubbed them with the heel of his free hand and checked again. Finally he set the letter down, but his eyes remained stuck to it.

“The Art of Blood,” He said at last, “That’s what’s next. Not Heart.”

With a mighty gasp, Nepeta slammed her hands on the table – it was a common reaction in their group, it seemed. “But it can’t be Blood!” She cried. “That’s Karkitty’s Art!”

There was a distinct thud of table meeting forehead. “Oh my God,” Karkat said, “I thought I asked you not to use that fucking nickname for me anymore. It wasn’t endearing at six sweeps and it’s not endearing now.”

“You seem awfully calm for being called to battle,” Jane said. Dirk had not registered a thing around him, so riveted he was to the letter, so she had leaned over to check it herself. “The outcomes haven’t exactly been favorable.”

“Yeah, well, I’m your General, what do you expect.” Karkat lifted his head and glowered. “Smack your matesprit upside the head for me, would you? He’s acting like somebody filled his pudding cups with rotten grubsauce.”

That caught Dirk’s attention. His head snapped up and he glared enough for his mouth to pull back in a snarl. “Run that by me again?”

“Your ass is in a human pretzel twist because you think you’re wrong, and it’s dumb,” Karkat said, “Cut it out.” Next to him, Gamzee reached out and took his hand, curling it into his own.

“Hey, look, I don’t think you got the memo, but if I had been right your nub head wouldn’t be on the chopping block right now. Unless you heard me wrong, which better not be the case. I don’t recall being anything less but extremely fucking concise.”

Karkat bristled, but he stood strong, and Jane watched him with interest. What had gotten into him? “Look here you man-pain spewing, molt gargling excuse for a monarch, I said you _think_ you’re wrong. But you’re not. Maybe. Possibly.” He held up one of the limeblood files from the stack. “There’s a reason we gave the order to have these pulled, and it’s because we fell ass backwards into luck because of Past Me. And would you like to know what Past Me was doing while falling ass backwards?” He chucked the file across the table, a hint of satisfaction flittering across his face as it hit Dirk in the chest. “He was stealing one of these from the brooding caverns! He thought, gee, this looks weird. There’s blood colors in here that I’ve never seen before – kind of like _my_ blood color.” Karkat paused to squeeze Gamzee’s hand. “He thought – maybe – if he looked at files on freaks – then maybe he’d figure out where a freak like him even came from.”

The room was silent. Every breath from Karkat was slow, as if it were difficult to take, and cherry red had bloomed in his cheeks. Down the table, Eridan perked up.

“Oh, Kar-” He began, somewhat tender. The General whipped his head around to face him.

“Don’t you oh Kar me, I will rip out your squawk blister if you say another word, one more goddamn word-”

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Gamzee said, and he pulled Karkat into his arms and began to pap him. General Vantas looked positively scandalized. “My Bro is all up and wearied from his mad revelations. He’s not thinkin’ with his pan after a lowdown like that, nobody could. How’s about we try on some smiles and chill for now, huh?”

“I thought we had information to look through?” Terezi said, chiding in her tone. She cackled softly as Gamzee’s expression soured.

“Nuh-uh, Terecita, book-learnin’ ain’t gonna get us nowhere when we’re all up and riled-”

Vriska drummed her fingers on the table, her nails clacking. “I really hate to agree with the clown,” She said, “But I second his motion. We are all weeeeeeeell due for a break, wouldn’t you say?”

She flashed her million boonbuck grin around the table. No further nudge was needed to get anyone to put a book or file down; research wearied all, so soon they all streamed from the throne room, to caravans or towers or corridors. Only Dirk lingered at the table, surveying the remnants of the work it seemed they had yet to do. Jane stayed with him.

“So he thinks he’s supposed to be lime?” Dirk asked. Jane couldn’t tell if he had asked her or asked himself.

“It’d put him between Sollux and Nepeta if it were true,” She said. Dirk slumped into his chair.

“He wants to play with paternity tests in the middle of a political revolution,” He said, “One that _he_ so graciously warned us against.”

“But some good came out of it, right?” Jane rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m a bit cross with him for stealing, but I know he knows _that’s_ wrong. I’ll…give him a stern talking to if it will make you feel better.”

“Awfully kind of you to offer.” A hand came up to rest on hers. “I think I’ll take you up on it.”

~*~

A talking to was the least of what Karkat expected. When the meeting broke he had retreated to the grass corridor alone, slipping out of Gamzee’s grasp. He pitied the idiot, bless his blood pusher, but there were some moments where a troll needed to be alone.

He sat across from the picture frame and waited – for what he wasn’t sure. Behind his eyelids memory’s shadows performed before him, fuzzy around the edges as he recounted the first production he had ever seen with Troll Will Smith. Slick had taken him. Karkat had always supposed it had been out of some strange familial inkling the man might have had, but for what reason he could not be sure.

Karkat  had joked about that inkling with the others often enough. The human disease of friendship, he called it, something that melded pale and flushed and ashen and black into a great hodgepodge of what-the-fuckery and bad jokes. It developed all on its own without anyone taking notice until you were downright rife with the stuff, sick with concern and care. Other trolls resisted it. He knew they did, from every play he’d ever seen to his strange affair with his own troops – trolls were never meant to be friends. They looked out simply for their own, and all others were potential enemies until proven otherwise. And yet here they all were, a crop of kids with keys to kingdoms, gold and purple tying them together with humans to create something of a semblance of competency – and in one way or another, they all cared for one another. _He_ cared, with something hot and awful that burned through his veins and led him to try, try and keep them all together with everything he had.

“Unity,” He muttered to himself, “What the fuck is something like that going to take?”

~*~

The Ides for Blood were unseasonably cool. A summer storm had rolled in during the night, the first of many to come, and it had sucked up all the stickiness to leave the grass slick with water, the sky still heavy with clouds. Most of the land between the citadel and its walls held muddy puddles from which tips of blades peeked, and it was slow going to climb the domed mountain.

General Vantas led the line of troops with his head held high, shoulders squared, with no regard to how the mud spattered his boots and the legs of his trousers. He barked back loud and terse at any complaint that reached his ears, and his hands twitched at his sides where he kept twin sickles. If it had been any other time, perhaps someone would have asked him who pissed in his coffee that morning, but no one dared raise the ire of the General any further, and mouths were kept firmly shut.

The summit of the domed mountain was reached. All troops stood at the ready, every leader tense. There was no telling what sort of force would come up over the edge to meet them. The wind whistled in their ears, and they waited.

A dark cloud rolled along overhead, sprinkling them with drizzle. Still they waited.

No one could tell if it was noon because of the obscured sun, but many of the number slackened their posture and held their stomachs, longing for lunch. Even still, they waited.

 Jane was about to ask aloud if they had read the calendar wrong by mistake when Space finally crackled on the other side of the mountain. It drew every eye and ear, a set of footfalls distinct as they crept closer. It was only one set, but the sound was crisp as the troops held their breath, their anticipation reaching a fever pitch. And then…

The head that appeared over the mountain summit was not extraordinary. It was small, black haired, with a set of nubby horns – a troll as anyone could see. Hands were stuffed into the pockets of trousers. A red sweater too thick for the weather hung loosely on their frame, and they walked with a careful, hunched gait, eyes like milky pearls wide and sweeping to and fro to take in the scene. They became completely still upon spotting Karkat, who – and it may have just been Jane’s imagination – stiffened considerably.

“Ah.” It was a soft utterance, a voice unfitting to a face and body known for so much else. “Here you are.”

General Vantas’s head lowered, horns forward, teeth bared. “Here I am,” He said. “So let’s just cut to the chase, huh? You don’t have any spectators to stand in for troops, we don’t have to make it a fucking farce. Draw your weapon and we’ll fight.”

The Beforan raised his eyebrows and balked. “Fight?”

“Don’t play dumb! Whatever it is you heinous wastes of fucks given want us to believe, you keep setting these ‘battles’ up as grudge matches. Troll on troll brawling based on terror, designed to make us sloppy, meant to kill us-” He drew his sickles and stepped forward. “-But guess what pal? I’m not afraid of you. And I am going to fuck you up so bad, your Benefactor won’t be able to recognize your remains.”

Perhaps it was the chilly wind that rolled across the mountain’s peak at that moment, or a trick of the light, but Jane swore she saw the Beforan shake as he pulled his hands from his pockets, holding them out before him in peace. “Now, please, if you could hold on for just a moment…I don’t really want to fight you, for you see, I am a pacifist-”

“Then being a General in a rebelling faction is an extremely poor choice in careers! Or is your pan completely comprised of idiot cells?”

“I do admit it is not my ideal choice of paths.” The Beforan shrugged, stepping to the side. Karkat did the same, and the pair began to circle each other. “But it was not exactly of my choosing. The fact that I came alone and have not engaged you in combat yet is a grave betrayal of my friends and of our Benefactor.”

“So you admit to your mental incontinence?”

“I admit to believing that there is a bigger picture my Benefactor cannot comprehend.” He paused then, glanced out to the many troops of Prospit and Derse. For a moment it seemed that a great tingling washed over them from those eyes, and it was then that Jane knew they were not dealing with any ordinary troll. “It is the territory that comes with the moniker of ‘The Signless Prophet’.”

Karkat snorted. “Look, are you trying to kill me through laughter? Did you forget your weapons at home and decide you would play this ‘innocent as a rumpus-rashed wiggler’ act? Because it’s kind of funny, but you’re not incapacitating me with spasms of pure euphoria, I think you need to try harder.”

“I – _excuse_ me? I am being completely sincere-”

“Completely sincerely _stupid_ -”

The pair went back and forth this way, talking with little breath, ever circling. Jane heard Vriska yawn theatrically far behind. “I think I need snacks,” She said, “Does anybody want me to bring them back some? I actually will this time, this kind of show needs snacks for you to reeeeeeeeally enjoy it. Am I right, or am I right?” There was a soft tsk, and Vriska groaned. “Oh come oooooooon, Kanaya! Just zap with me to the kitchen and I’ll get something in eight seconds flat!”

Whether or not Vriska actually convinced Kanaya to pop into the kitchen Jane never knew. She had pushed herself to the front of the troops to get a better view of what was going on, and she could sense Dirk following close behind. When they burst through the front line, Karkat and his double had done one full circling. She could see Karkat’s sickles shaking.

“Do you want to keep going like this?” The Beforan asked. There was a shade of concern in his expression. “It seems that you are working yourself into some sort of emotional hang-up, despite your previous assertions. I think we both would like to avoid any unnecessary emotional outbursts.”

“Oh yeah?” Karkat jabbed a sickle at the other troll. “And what makes you so sure you can assume one single goddamn thing about me?”

The Beforan gave him a dry, flat stare. “You said as much yourself.”

“T-Then give me one good reason not to turn you into shredded grubsteak!” His voice was tightening, but there was no way Karkat would back down so early. There was a single beat of silence as all in attendance held their breath, and then –

“I can tell you about Beforus.”

Karkat did not so much as flinch or falter. “You mean Beforan.”

His double nodded. “Yes, Beforan too – the current incarnation of what it means to be Beforan. But to give that context, you need to know of what came first: the Empire of Beforus.”

“…” Slowly, Karkat lowered his sickle just a hair. “And what do you want in exchange?”

“What does anyone want in these sorts of situations?” The Beforan lowered himself to one knee, head bowed, eyes closed. “My life to be spared – that’s all I ask.”

It was an interesting offer, that much was certain. This troll might as well have laid his neck on a chopping block and put trust in the executioner above not to swing his axe. But could _he_ be trusted?

Jane picked her way cautiously across the peak and reached out to take hold of her General. Karkat flinched at her touch on his shoulder, but he glanced at her out of the corner of one eye, the other never leaving his double. He said nothing.

“I don’t think I can make the call for this,” She said softly. “It’s your battle, your Art. I’m leaving it up to you.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Dirk added as he approached. Karkat looked away from Jane and grit his teeth.

“Are you my King yet? I didn’t think so.” Slowly, slowly, the sickles lowered until they hung at the General’s sides. “…Alright. Okay. Get on your feet before your shame globes shrivel up out of prostration and start talking.” The Beforan looked up at his double in disbelief, eyes like miniatures of the moon. “But know this,” Karkat said, striding forward and sheathing his sickles, “The moment you try to fuck us over, the very fraction of a second where you decide it’s a good idea to hurt somebody or tell us lies to screw us up, the minute I catch you spying on the pittance of battle formations we can call plans…”

He mimed a slit throat with a jab of his thumb, and the Beforan’s expression soured.

“Beheading is incredibly triggering. Don’t you have any respect for that?”

And if that was not the strangest agreement to a truce Jane would ever see, she would be very surprised indeed.

~*~

Kankri, as the Beforan requested he be called, was not placed in a cell in the dungeons or put up in one of the towers, which had steadily become more lived in as the weeks wore on. No, he was kept in Prospit’s caravan, allowed to sleep in Karkat’s recuepracoon when sleep befell him, and Karkat insisted he remain awake and keep watch of their strange guest for any subversive behavior. For all the hostility that remained in his movements he was protective of Kankri, or at least Jane thought so, and it seemed the sentiment was reciprocated. Kankri did not speak to the other trolls beyond pleasantries. He barely acknowledged them with a glance, and always seemed to shrink back in their presence, but he gravitated towards Karkat like a moth to flame.

The first night with the Beforan in their camp was long. None of the other Prospit trolls save Karkat dared stay in the caravan with him, and thus they had gone to bunk in their towers, but it wasn’t right to leave the poor General alone. Jane went to see him in the dark, caring not for the modesty of a shawl, as the nights had begun to grow as languid as the days. When the creak of a door and the crunch of grass found her ear, she knew to turn in the darkness and smile.

“You can’t sleep either?”

“Haven’t slept well since this whole thing started.” Dirk shoved his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. Jane was a bit envious; no one ever thought to put pockets on cotton shifts. “It’s not like it was with Caliborn, but I kind of miss dreaming.”

She looped her arm through the crook of his and tugged. “Come on. Let’s see how the General is holding up.”

Dirk let her guide him along. “Wouldn’t be surprised if we found Kankri dead and Karkat reveling in his entrails,” He said, and laughed when Jane smacked his shoulder.

“That is disgusting and I know for certain you’re wrong! Cease your tomfoolery, Your Majesty.”

“Whatever you say, Your Grace.”

The door to the Prospit trolls’ caravan was unlocked, as if Karkat expected visitors, and when they entered they found him reading books by candlelight, the flicker of ruby eyes the only sign that he acknowledged them. The flames cast shadows on his recuperacoon, in which Kankri snored softly.

“At least one asshole around here is getting a good forty winks,” Dirk said. Karkat scoffed.

“He fell asleep yammering about Troll Salinger.” His voice was thin, strangely hoarse. “You ever read Troll Salinger? Jane?”

“I can’t say I have – or if there’s even a human equivalent. Is he any good?”

Karkat shrugged. “Doesn’t do anything for me. But make a reference to, uh…the title’s so long, I think literary circles call it ‘Thresher in the Rye’, but you reference that once and this guy cannot shut up.” He closed the book in his hands and looked back to the ‘coon. “He mostly talked about how ‘triggering’ the content is and how victimized he felt as a mutant because the main character is a disillusioned blueblood doing reckless shit and getting intoxicated. Like people seriously discuss that kind of hoofbeast crap.”

Jane and Dirk shared a look.

The General sighed and patted the floor beside him. “Whatever. I’m glad you came, sit down. I wanted to ask you guys in the morning, but since you’re here, we should probably work out how we’re going to interrogate this guy.”

Reluctantly Jane joined Karkat, tucking the skirt of her shift under her knees. Dirk hunkered down beside her, and the light pooled between them. “I did leave him to you, General. Whatever procedure you deem fit, I will allow.”

“Well maybe I need your help, alright? Is that okay, Jane? Or is that too much responsibility?” There was little venom to his quip, as if it had been drained to the dregs before they came. “If this was just any chucklehead I’d interrogate him myself and be done with it. Maybe I’d get Terezi involved and…I dunno, we’d play like a Good Cop and a Bad Cop kind of thing.”

“With her?” Dirk asked. “That’d be more like a Bad Cop, Worse Cop kind of deal.”

Ah yes, there was the ire of Karkat Vantas, all condensed into a sharp glare. “It’s worked in the past,” He said, “Whatever it is. It doesn’t and shouldn’t matter to you, because that’s not what I want to do. I don’t trust this guy. Nobody here does. But I’m the one who took charge of him, and I am going to own up to that with all I’ve got no matter how annoying this guy gets.”

There was a pause, a snort and sniffle from Kankri, and the snoring continued.

“The last thing I want to do is interrogate him on my own and end up another useless husk for everyone to deal with, but you’ve seen how he acts around other trolls. If we’re all there with him together it may freak him out, and I want him to feel as at ease as possible. He’ll spill more metaphorical beans if he is. That’s why I want you two in there with me, asking him things and taking notes.”

Something inside of Jane quivered, from dread or anticipation she did not know. “Do you think he’ll speak with us present?”

“He will if he wants to keep that head of his,” Dirk said. “Gotta hand it to you, Vantas. That doesn’t seem like a bad course to take. If this guy actually has something useful to tell us, I’m all for it.”

“Yeah, you better be. I’m the one leading this thing.”

“’Course you are, man. Of course.”

It was as much a quip truce between King and General as Jane could get, and she took it. “How about we begin tomorrow morning then? After breakfast?” Her eyes twinkled in the dim caravan. “We’ll butter him up a little bit with something nice – my treat!”

Eyebrows rose over triangle spectacles. “You’d cook breakfast for sixteen people?” Dirk asked. “This isn’t even a matter of royalty, that shit’s a pain. Everyone likes to eat different things, they’re going to treat you like a restaurant chef. Might as well pull out the little desk bell while we’re at it, bang on it so hard the table shakes and all that rings in your ears for the next six months is that goddamn sound. -”

Dirk’s tirade came to a halt as Karkat flicked his forehead. “Are you so astronomically dense as to tell Jane _not_ to cook?” He asked. “Have you not _eaten_ her pancakes?”

“Do that again and the finger’s coming off.” Dirk rubbed where Karkat flicked him. “And no, I can’t say I have.”

Karkat’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Jane. Jane, what the hell, I thought you were matesprits. Isn’t cooking for each other part of being human matesprits?”

“It’s not like he hasn’t tried my cooking,” Jane began-

“But not your _pancakes_?!” He threw his hands into the air, and despite the hoarse scratch to his voice his volume increased considerably. “This is fucking ludicrous! A situation of more woe and lament has never been observed by the gander bulbs of Karkat Vantas! That you would deny anyone close to you the magic and wonder of those misshapen golden cake disks is a sleight against humanity and trollmanity combined! You are making fucking pancakes tomorrow – enough to feed a whole goddamned army, or so help me, _I’ll_ be the one making the pancakes.” His hands dropped, and shadow fell across his features. “And we all know what happened last time I tried cooking.”

There was a beat of perfect silence, a moment in which Kankri had just drawn breath but was not quite ready to snore yet.

“Magic…and wonder,” Dirk said, “That good, huh? Well shit Jane, he’s right. How dare you hold out on me.”

“Damn right how dare she! So it’s settled, it’s happening, no take-backs! Why the fuck are you laughing, Jane, I am so serious about this right now!” It was true – Jane could barely contain herself. She had doubled over and clamped her mouth with both hands, trying so hard to keep down every ‘hoo’ that bubbled up in her chest.

There was so much in their lives right now that harrowed them. Death and looming battle, the cloak and dagger of politics, it all loomed on the horizon, coming at them it seemed from the ends of the earth. But it was moments such as this where not a one of them could be faulted in reveling in the absurd. It kept them sane, after all.

~*~

That next morning, though bleary-eyed and wobbly on her feet, Jane did indeed make pancakes for sixteen, herself included. She was not good at making large ones, or flipping them up in the pan like proper chefs in restaurants could do, but by far hers were leagues better, crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, cooked to varying shades of golden brown and perfect sponges for maple syrup. They were the first thing she had ever learned to cook well under Caliborn’s lordship, so well in fact that he was more than happy to eat them for every meal for the three weeks it took her to learn a few more simple dishes. She had this down to an art, and had already shared them with the court in Prospit. Some days no matter the weather, if there was something in the air that spoke of a need for something special, she would trek down to the kitchens and shoo the cooks, and when her fellows came down from their bedrooms still in their pajamas, breakfast was waiting for them, still hot, always delicious. The pancakes were the one thing everyone could agree on, and were beloved even moreso than Calliope’s peach cornbread.

Now that indeed was a feat of note.

There was a touch of pride to Jane’s work this morning as she set it down, humans and trolls ambling in from wherever it was they had spent the night. Karkat, of course, had brought Kankri with him, and the Beforan looked around in befuddlement. It was highly doubtful that prisoners of the Beforans were treated to breakfast at the hands of their enemy’s Queen herself, and she had to chuckle to herself about it.

To say the pancakes went over well would be a severe understatement. For the Prospitians, the smell itself seemed to lift the weight of war off of their shoulders, and they dug in with gusto, urging the Dersites and their unusual guest to do the same. Jane ate slowly, watching as faces lit up when first bites were taken and reveling in their delight. Dirk’s reaction in particular made her heart flutter; he chewed slowly, thoughtfully, and placed his fork down when he swallowed. His eyes flitted to her, and though mostly obscured, she could see the corners of them. They were orange and bright, lingering on her as if he had all the time in the world to do so, and intended to take it.

When breakfast was over, no one had left behind a single crumb on their plates – not even Kankri, who, while still solemn and quiet in the presence of the trolls, smiled despite himself. They could have his favor in their possession yet.

The others dispersed, as they always did. Some went to their troops to train, others went into the town to help fortify it, others still went meandering on their own to be alone with their thoughts, or perhaps each other. Only Jane, Dirk, Karkat, and Kankri remained in the throne room when the last door closed, and once it did Karkat breathed deeply, setting aside his satiation and folding his hands on the table.

“Alright. Let’s not flail around the shrubbery fronds. You said you’d tell us about your people if we let you live, and I say it’s time you made good on your end of the deal.” Kankri shifted in his seat as Karkat continued, speaking with a boom and bravado he usually reserved for his troops. “I have help here with me if you decide it’s a better idea to run or attack, and there’s a whole assload of people just beyond those doors who’ll be cheesed the fuck off should you try anything. Do you read me, maggot muncher?”

The Beforan wrinkled his nose. “‘Maggot muncher’ is an ugly and childish insult. Please do not call me that-”

“Don’t start by deflecting,” Dirk said as Karkat grit his teeth and seethed. “We just want to lay all our cards out on the table. You’re not on trial or anything, we just want to know what you know.” He folded his hands on the table, shifting in such a way that he appeared to be nothing but a humble fellow, and not the fierce, proud King that thrived inside. “And Vantas has a point. We’re making good on our promise – we’re not depriving you of anything needed to live, and unless you’re allergic to maple syrup we haven’t hurt you.”

“Even if you were, it wouldn’t be on purpose,” Jane added.

“That’s right. We’re not out to get you, dude. You came quietly. But we’ve heard that you’re chatty and thought, hey, let’s chat with this guy. Let’s bow to each other and take the information he’s dishing out with both hands, show him some respect. We are one hundred percent ready to receive if you’re ready to give.”

He leaned back to wait. Kankri chewed on the inside of his cheek as he considered these words, brows drawn. He slowly drummed his fingers on the edge of the table and looked from Karkat to Jane to Dirk, to Karkat again.

“What will you do with me,” He asked, “When I have told you all I know?”

Those pearl pale eyes were downcast, but even Jane knew the face of worry when she saw it. “We haven’t discussed it, but I assume we’ll let you go free.”

“What, so he can go back to his squeakbeast nest and tell the Beforans all our secrets?” Karkat asked. He turned to Kankri, but the Beforan shook his head.

“I have betrayed them by doing this at all,” He said. “When I leave, they will kill me. If I run, they will catch me. If I hide, they will find me.” Kankri shrugged, but still he did not look up. “I leave my fate in your hands.”

That was all well and good, but only if the information he had to offer was the truth. They were pussyfooting around the issue with this, and Jane could not tolerate it. “Please, Mister Kankri. Tell us. Who are the Beforans – the ones you’re betraying, where did they come from and where are they now?”

“Oh, I couldn’t tell you that,” Kankri said, and he ignored Karkat’s groan of frustration. “I’m a snitch, but not that big a snitch. Even if I told you where they’re hiding, they would just move someplace else before you could even blink. It wouldn’t do you any good. As for who they are, you already know. They are rebel trolls. They believe things should be as they were in the days of Beforus.”

“And what’s Beforus?” Dirk asked.

“The Empire that ruled this land before the Cherubs came.” Kankri coughed softly to clear his throat. “They were based on a rigid hemocaste system, with the seat of Her Imperious Condescension at the top. All this land here, the – what is it called now? The Scratchlands? In the days of Beforus it was all a giant river. Her palace towered where that funny mountain you’ve built yourselves next to used to be. Coral grew like trees, branching out into corridors and passageways…”

If possible, the Beforan’s eyes became misty as if he looked out on some other landscape and not the throne room. His voice began to drone – a trance, it was, and Kankri has slipped into it as easily as he breathed.

“Trolls came here long ago. They came from the stars with their Empress just barely crowned. They found humans and rounded them up, bled them and denounced them mutants of living organisms. Humans became servants, and the trolls expanded their territory. They had reached the sea long before the Cherubs arrived, and they changed everything.”

So the Beforans knew of the Cherubs – or at least those at the top did. They had not kept their former masters’ designs a secret from the people once all had been said and done, but for their enemy to cite their importance…

Kankri went on. “Cherubs too come from the stars. They appeared one day and dethroned the Empress, shuffled up humanity and trollmanity into the Prospit and Derse of today, ushering both in a neverending game of chess. They destroyed all they could find of Beforus – records and texts and the mouths of those who spread its stories. But it lives still. In catacombs and margins, old songs and hatchlines, Beforus lives. Beforus can be found by those who seek it, and those who go looking do so to change things-”

He coughed again and gave a great shudder, and the trance had ended. Kankri gasped for breath and blinked owlishly. “I’m sorry – that tends to – to happen when I – try to remember things from before, I can’t – can’t control it…”

It took a moment for anyone to respond. Jane herself felt her head spin; it sounded like a world turned upside-down, this Beforus, but there was something Kankri said that she could not ignore. “Remember things from before?”

All at once Kankri stilled. “ _Oh_.” He paused and wrapped his arms around his middle. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah, I think you can’t help but spew things from that verbal sphincter you call a mouth,” Karkat said. “So now you’d better spill. What before are you talking about?”

“I don’t wish to talk about before.”

“It kind of seems like it’s relevant to Beforus, and you did promise-”

“You are _triggering_ me!” Kankri exclaimed. He doubled over until his forehead met his knees, and Jane stood up immediately, concern beating out wariness. “I don’t want anything more to do with before! You can’t make me say anything about before-”

He kept repeating that word, before, before. Before what? Before Cherubs? Before Trolls? Before –

It clicked. “Before us,” She said softly. Her voice silenced Kankri’s wails, and Karkat and Dirk turned her way. “Beforus is before-us. What does that entail?”

“I _don’t_ want to tell you,” Kankri said. He sounded so much like Karkat now, speaking through grit teeth and body quaking. In that moment, if she did not know better, she would not have been able to tell them apart. “I _don’t_ want to trance about it.”

She took a step towards him, then another. A wild hunch was coming together in her mind, so wild that even Jane did not believe it could work, but necessity demand she test it, and something old spurred her on, sparking the Life underneath her skin in a haze of déjà-vu “As Queen of this land,” Jane said, “I command you to _tell me of Beforus_.”

Kankri became still, half curled in a ball and expression twisted in a kind of frenzied pain, and his breathing deepened as he closed his eyes. He sat up in slow increments, chest rising and falling – there was a pattern to the breaths, Jane could count it in her head. Two beats in, two beats out. Two beats in, three beats out. Two in, four out, two in –

“It would be…an honor,” He said at last. Something about that rang strangely in Jane’s ears, the huskiness to the voice perhaps. It seemed…familiar.

“Then speak,” She said, and speak he did. Eyes opened, remaining half-lidded and turning glassy, if white eyes could seem glassy at all. He did not once blink or draw breath, but on and on his words flowed, like a trickling rivulet down a mountain into the mouth of the sea.

“Beforus is many things. Before the Empress, there was no empire. Before the trolls, humanity lived in ways lost to even Seers’ sight.” He turned to Karkat slowly, and for a moment his eyes took a reddish sheen. “And before General Vantas there was another Vantas, and another, and another. Before you, there was us. And before us…is Beforus.”

General Vantas had grown pale. “The fuck is this? Some kind of riddle game? Make some goddamn sense-”

“But he _is_ making sense,” Jane said. Kankri’s babble became background noise as she began to pace, leaping to her mind’s scramble for something logical. “Before you and I, there was ‘us’ – the Beforans of today, meaning the group could go back a lot further than we could have imagined. Maybe they’ve been an underground rebellion against the Cherub censorship all this time? And then before them was the actual entity that was the Empire of Beforus-”

“You’re wrong.”

The words stopped Jane short. She looked to Dirk, her gaze particularly sharp. “Come again?”

“I said you’re wrong.” He held his hands up. “Don’t get mad, you’ve got a good theory going, but you’re ignoring something here. The one outcome that could only be applicable to this particular bunch of assholes when confronted with doubles of themselves.”

Something sank in her stomach. She knew, instantly, what Dirk meant; she had thought as much even before, but – “It’s impossible!”

“Impossible? Or just not completely explained yet?” Dirk stood up, raising his voice to echo through the throne room. “When you’ve been reincarnated as many times as we apparently have, who’s to say our old ghosts won’t come back to haunt us?”

There was no moment for Jane to collect herself, or for Karkat to interrupt and knock down Dirk’s claim. Kankri still spoke.

“-Cannot receive the proper visions anymore. I am too far removed from them. What I can say for certain is that there was once a version of myself that lived during the final years of the Beforan Empire. Then there was me. Now there is General Vantas.” Karkat bristled immediately, his mouth setting into a thin line. “I did once record my recollections – dreams and nightmares that play a life on repeat, collected into several thick volumes bound in leather and buried in a metal box. I shared the location with no one. The geography of the area has shifted, but I still know where they are. I offer them to you in your quest to understand.”

At this he fell silent, slumping back in his chair and gasping for breath. Something rang in Jane’s ears; it bounced back and forth in the walls of her mind with logic and reason and the crazy, upside-down reality of the past. What were they supposed to do now? Should they put their trust in Kankri and allow him to lead them to his wild goose chase of a treasure? Should they turn him out on the spot and denounce him as a liar? How could the return of anyone from the dead be possible, if only she and Feferi held the power to do so? She leaned against the table and held her head as everything spun about.

Jane barely noticed the touch of a hand on hers. “Are your books far from here?” Dirk asked. Kankri fixed him with bewilderment.

“Books – _oh_.” He struggled to sit up. “I did say that. Erm. No, they are not far. They should not be far. If I were to look at a map-”

“Karkat, get him a map of the area.”

“What the fuck do I look like, your errand troll?” There was a bit of snarl and bite to the words that had not been there before. “And you don’t call me by my first name, dingleshit-”

“Considering we potentially have two people in here who will respond to _General Vantas_ ,” Dirk stressed through his teeth, “I’d rather be informal. _Please_. Bring in a map or I’m punching you in the face regardless of whether or not your Queen finds it acceptable.”

That snapped Jane to her senses as Karkat grumbled and stomped off. “ _Excuse_ me – you can’t possibly-”

The hand atop hers gave a light squeeze. “It’s the only lead we have, Jane. I know it sounds crazy-”

“Darn tootin’ it sounds crazy – but I mean my General! Please don’t boss him around like that!”

“Alright, I won’t-”

“Would it be possible for me to return to the recuperacoon?” Kankri asked. Both monarchs turned their heads sharply to face him, and he shrank back.

“ ** _No!_** ”

~*~

The four of them went around towards the western side of the domed mountain alone. They passed the outskirts of the town and tromped through the Scratchlands underbrush as Kankri, pushed to the front and timid with the large map in his hands, led them to a section of grassy slope that looked like every other section of grassy slope that made up the foot of the mountain. Here he stopped for a moment and examined the area. He looked hard at the bark of the nearby trees, knocked on a stray boulder or two. Then, quite decisively, he stopped at a particular spot of the juncture between land and mountain.

“Here,” He said, “Yes, it’s here. This is where we dig.”

And so they dug. They had brought shovels and did so in shifts, Karkat and Dirk first, then Jane with Kankri. All the while she watched the Beforan with a careful eye. He tired quickly for a troll, huffing with each scoop of dirt he tossed, and red tinted his cheeks.

“You were…my subject,” She whispered to him quietly, when Dirk and Karkat lay out on the grass to recover and the hole was deep enough to come up to their hips. “When you were alive. Right?”

Kankri averted his eyes. “This is an extremely triggering topic and I do not appreciate-”

“I’m sorry if it bothers you,” Jane said, “But I’d like to know. I’m curious.”

“Curiosity brutally maimed the purrbeast in ways that are best left unmentioned for the sensitivity of others,” Kankri said. She chuckled despite herself.

“If it’s all the same, you don’t have to go into a trance about it. The bare bones is fine.” She wanted more than bare bones, but if that was all their guest was comfortable revealing, that was all she would get. He paused in his digging to roll one of his shoulders, and briefly he looked very much like Karkat.

“I was Seer to Jane Crocker the First,” He said, “And before that, as a Beforan…I suppose it is possible we knew each other.”

“Before the first Crocker?” She asked incredulously. He nodded.

“I don’t remember it precisely. These are memories of memories, you see, and they are by nature difficult to divine. But they are mine. In some way, I can always -”

Kanrki brought his shovel down, and it hit something metallic with a great _thunk_. He paused.

“…Well. Find them again.”

The thunk had alerted the others, and soon all four of them dug like mad. Overhead the sun had already set behind the tree line, but the sky was still orange and bright with its rays by the time they had dug enough to properly unearth the box. It was incredibly old, made of crude and heavy iron, and a lock had kept it shut tight. On the lock the Vantas hatchsymbol had been stamped, and Karkat thumbed it as he examined the box, idly scraping dirt out of the grooves.

“Looks like it needs a key,” He said, “Or a good set of bolt cutters.”

“You are better off looking for the cutters. I swallowed the key in my previous life, and I do not think it came with me to this one.”

Dirk grabbed onto one of the box’s sides. “The workmen’s tools. The ones they’re using to build the castle – they’d have something, come on.”

So back around the mountain they went, the four of them carrying the box between them. It was incredibly heavy. Was that because it was made of iron, or were the journals inside that thick and numerous? Or, perhaps, had they all crumbled to dust by now, and all they lugged was junk?

Panting and drenched with sweat they brought the box to the castle, into the throne room. Inside a few of their number sat, talking in hushed tones about who knows what, but all that came to a halt when the box was placed on the table. At the request of their monarchs, some left to fetch those who were elsewhere. Others ran up the steps to the unfinished second floor, bringing down great big claws of tools, sharp and heavy and used to cut all sorts of materials. Dirk and Karkat held the box down and let Equius handle the various assortment of cutters, but even then not a single one could cut the lock.

Equius placed the latest tool down and brought a hand to his chin, evaluating the box with his eyes. “The iron looks brittle,” He said, “But it must have been fortified with some sort of alloy. How else can it not bend to my _strength_?”

“There may be some other alternative yet,” Rose suggested. She looked to Kankri, who had hovered around the edge of the group and cast the box furtive glances. “Is there something you have not informed us about? Perhaps a sort of ancient enchantment on the box to keep just anyone from opening it?”

The Beforan tensed. “Erm. Ah. There…might be.”

Those words alone made Karkat howl with rage. He shoved the box; it left deep scratches in the table. “Then why the fuck are we messing with metalworking tools?! Why would you even suggest that??”

“I assumed you would be the one using them,” Kankri said. “I did not make the box or its lock – someone made it for me – they said, they made it so only a Vantas could open it!”

The room became still. All eyes swiveled to Karkat, who had puffed up with frustration and prickled considerably. “Alright,” He said at last, “Fine. I’ll open it. But somebody put this shit back upstairs, or those meatbag workmen won’t know what to do with themselves.” With a casual air he reached over to Gamzee and plucked something from the other troll’s hair. It was a hairpin, though for what purpose it served in that rat’s nest of hair no one could see, and Gamzee did not seem to notice that anything had changed at all. Karkat slid a leg of the pin into the lock and wiggled it experimentally.

“Do you even know how to pick a lock?” Kankri asked, grimacing at the display. Karkat grunted.

“Comes with being tutored by gangsters. Now shut your goddamn trap before I decide to shove your foot in it to keep you quiet and jab this thing up one of your nostrils to try and pick the secrets from your pan.”

It seemed for a moment that Kankri would speak regardless; his mouth was open and his arms crossed, something condescending no doubt on the tip of his tongue. One glare from Karkat was all he needed to fall silent.

The seconds stretched on and on to the tick of the hairpin against the lock’s mechanisms. Jane knew all eyes were on the box, no doubt wondering just what it was they had deigned to hike around a mountain and spend hours digging for.

There was a pop, and the lock opened and fell off the box. The top opened just a crack, and Karkat lifted it slowly. Inside were journals – several journals, the pages yellowed and worn – and a bit of dirt from the ground it had rested in for so long. Kankri watched from between heads and horns as Karkat reverently picked one up. It fell open right along the middle, revealing blocks upon blocks of scrawled text, a bit old fashioned but still legible. Now and then a line appeared in a language strange and blocky, and Karkat’s fingers brushed ever so lightly against the paper as he examined them letter by letter.

“Oh my God,” He said, and then again, “Oh my _God_. It’s a fucking _diary_.”

“Of _visions_ of Beforus” Kanrki clarified. Again Karkat’s eyes shot out through the crowd to him, but there was nothing harsh or hard about them. They were…curious.

“…Yeah. Yeah, that’s – pretty much what it looks like.”

~*~

The change of demeanor was like night and day. Overjoyed at the confirmation of a source of information to understand just what their enemy was picking a fight over, and relieved at the fact that there was finally someone they could trust, the nobles of Prospit and Derse proposed right then and there that a celebration was needed.

Well, Vriska proposed it.

“We’ve seeeeeeeeriously been way too stressed out over everything lately! And yeah, everything up to now has majorly sucked, but that only means we should party when good stuff happens! Come on, I can’t be the only one who wants to have some fun!”

She was right – lately there had been so little to be happy about. The tastiest sweets were dredged up from the kitchens and Gamzee brought out instruments from somewhere (how had he snuck horns and flutes and drums along with him? Jane would never know) and laughter flowed as candelabras were brought in to light the throne room. No one stopped Roxy from enjoying a bottle of wine, no one kept Nepeta from her pouncing leaps as she danced, no one recoiled from Terezi as she offered to divine fortunes from licking the palms of her patrons. It was a true party if there ever was one, as far removed from balls and coronations and formal affairs as it was possible.

Jane lacked the proper enthusiasm for it. She needed a break from the gloom, yes, but she could not throw herself out of it like the others could pretend to do. It would be better if _everyone_ could be there; the lack of presence from so many of their number lingered and darkened smiles at their edges. To stay made her feel like a like a chess piece in a game of checkers, it just wasn’t right.

She slipped out through the main door just as someone proposed that everyone kick off their shoes and dance on the table, a suggestion met with roaring approval. The sun had long since set, and she could see the full moon creeping up over the tree line in the east. There was a subtle violet sheen to it, as if instead of light from the sun it had sucked up all that was purple in Derse to shine down on her. How had Jane not noticed it before? Perhaps when the moon had traveled to the west it became as gold as Prospit itself. She would have to try to stay awake and see it, so she sat down against the castle wall and gazed above.

The moon had not gone far in its travels when another joined Jane outside. The main door creaked, and for a moment the merriment inside blared. Then it was muffled, and heavy, tired footsteps approached. Jane turned to watch her company with interest.

“General Vantas?”

For it was Karkat – not Dirk, and a tiny portion of her heart throbbed in soft mourning. She pushed the feeling aside and scooted over so her general could join her. Somehow he’d gotten Terezi’s personal hankerchief tied around his neck, as red as any maraschino cherry, and his cheeks blushed to match. He smelled very faintly of wine.

“Yeah. Yup, it’s me,” He said with all the firmness he could muster. “It’s me. General Karkat Vantas. Mm-hm, that’s right.”

It was entirely odd to find him so… _subdued_ , Jane supposed. Better he come out here to sit rather than do something foolish inside that he would surely regret tomorrow. “Good. Glad I have the right troll, then. If you were Kankri I’d be in a right terrible spot.”

“Yeah no, I’m not that…insufferable _windbag_.” He spat the last word, but – and it was difficult for Jane to describe it – he did it with a kind of affection. “Roxy mixed us up when we were playin’, uh, spin the, the thing with the drink in it.”

“Spin the bottle, General Vantas.”

“Yeah _that_ one!” He jabbed a finger at her. “Wait – not that one. The other one. Truth or dare, that was it. But…we were still spinnin’ a bottle.”

“I suppose to figure out who the spinner subjects their whims to,” Jane said. He nodded, paused, then nodded again. Tipsy Karkat was truly a sight to behold.

“Mm- _hm_ , makes sense. Yeah. But she _mixed us up_ ,” He continued, “The bottle pointed at _me_ and she called me _his_ name. I sure straightened _her_ out.” He slumped back against the castle wall. “Nobody calls me _Karkri_. ‘S just _Vantas_. Or _General_. Or…General Vantas.”

“Erm, I’m well aware of that.”

“Yeah I know. I know.” Karkat drew his knees up to his chest, then pushed his legs back out, as if he could not decide how to sit in order to be comfortable. “He’s…he’s not so bad though. Kankat.”

“Kankri, you mean.”

“Aeyup, there you go again, you’re right. Kankri. Kaaankri.” He said it a few more times, drawing out the vowels in hushed breath so he would not make the same mistake again. “Fuckin’…really fuckin’ somethin’, him. Doesn’t shut up.”

“Kind of like someone you may know?”

“Yes! He’s like _Dave_!” That earned a chuckle from Jane, and he must have deemed that a good sign, for Karkat continued. “But it’s more ‘n that. It’s more. Really. It’s like…what’s havin’ John ‘n Jade ‘n Jake like?”

That gave her pause. Jane looked at Karkat carefully, as if waiting for him to reveal that he’d been aping drunkenness to make a fool out of her. “Do you mean…like having a family?”

He nodded. “We don’t…trolls don’t really have those. You know. We’ve got us and…and _ancestors_. And quadrants. Nothin’ else. But you can’t _touch_ an ancestor. They might as well exist in like, bum-fuckall.” His hands came up, and he tried to form some sort of gesture, but his fingers were clumsy. “But I can talk to Kankri and touch him and – he’s there and – there’s _me_ in there. It freaked me out before ‘cause there’s never me in anything. I could be – I could be the _best_ troll. _The_ best. I could be the most ruthless and terrifyin’ troll in the world and my blood makes it worth _nothin’_.” The usual anger began to filter into him again, but it was greatly numbed and slowed. “I get shit for _existin’_ , even from some of the bulgerots here. Soon as I wasn’t Calliope’s pet, I knew it. ‘S why I am who I am. I gotta be sharper than sharp, tougher than tough, and if I hadta live out there I’d _never_ make my way fair ‘n square. The world would eat my ass _up_.”

He probably could have kept going, if Jane did not press a hand to his forearm. “So is that why there’s no reflection of you in other trolls? Because of blood?” It felt silly to ask – it was silly that even a Prospitian troll put stock into such a thing – but alcohol had a way of loosening lips that she’d often seen in Roxy. Maybe this was how Karkat really felt.

“Well _yeah_ , that’s what I just _said_!” He threw his hands into the air. “In that infuriatin’ crapbasket is my reflection! It explains _so_ much!”

“And it makes you feel…good?”

“No!”

The hands fell. Karkat drooped physically.

“It makes me feel awful. It makes me feel like _I’m_ insufferable too.”

There was a pang of pity in Jane’s heart, but her eyes narrowed as she took him by the shoulder. “But you said you thought Kankri wasn’t so bad – that he was like family!”

“He is!” With surprising strength Karkat shrugged off her touch. “He’s the most obnoxious, snivelin’, piss-poor excuse for a troll I ever met! So now I’m not the only one!” Karkat smiled at his revelation, something wide and far too warm for the words. Jane took a deep breath and sighed.

“Karkat?”

“Mmhm?”

“I think you need some air. Stay with me and don’t say a peep, please.”

“That’s not-”

“It’s now an _order_.”

And from that point on, Karkat stayed, and through the whole night he did not make another sound.

~*~

Whether or not the full moon turned gold when it sat in the western sky was a mystery Jane would not solve that night. She fell asleep with her general beside her, he having dropped off early on into his demanded silence, and the dawn had arrived when they woke – but they did not wake of their own volition. Something slammed beside them, jolting them from sleep, and quickly they rubbed their eyes and looked around, Jane in skittish exhaustion and Karkat ready to pounce. It had been the main door that opened, and running out into the fields was Kankri, huffing and puffing as if his life depended on it. Jane pulled herself to her feet.

“Kankri-” She began to call, but the main door slammed again, and a familiar voice let out a cackle like bubbles rising up to break the surface of a bog. Despite the warmth of a summer morn, Jane felt herself grow cold as ice.

“YO NUBBY, YOU’D BETTA GET BACK HERE IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YA!”

They had to go after her – Meenah – she ran like the wind, how had she gotten into the castle? How had she gotten _here_? What terrible errand had the Benefactor sent her on this time?

Beside her, Karkat had grown remarkably pale. “When he leaves,” He muttered, “They will kill him. If he runs, they will catch him. If he hides, they will find him-” He gasped, and at that moment Jane knew exactly what was going on. They tore off after Meenah, after Kankri, without thought as to how to stop what was about to take place.

The thing about Kankri was that he was a pacifist, focusing himself on anything but regular physical exertion. No matter what he had been enlisted to do by his Benefactor, he would not fight, and could not escape from someone like Meenah, who quickly closed the gap between them without need for rest. Halfway across the castle grounds he tripped over his own feet, and there was a flash of gold before Meenah was upon him.

At the first sight of red Karkat came to a halt, but Jane still ran. Head down and weaponless, she ran as if to slam into Meenah as her hands held a great trident, the force ripping the tines from Kankri’s body – he was most certainly dead, he had be skewered right through the heart and twitched as he bled profusely, he had just been alive, why, **_why_** – but she was not that fast. Just three paces separated the two when Meenah leapt back, hefting her trident on one shoulder, Kankri’s body dangling from it. She grinned and raised a hand in greeting with rippling fingers, and then, in a roar of crackling green, she and Kankri were gone.

Jane fell to her knees before a puddle of candy red blood, all that had been left of their strange turncoat ally. The dawn sky above seemed tinged with it. Karkat had not moved from where he had stopped, but if Jane had turned to look, she would have seen an expression none would have expected on the face of General Vantas – that of a child who had let go of a parent’s hand for just a moment, and now was lost in the thick of a crowd.

Though he had no way of knowing it, that look would stay with him for many sweeps to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IT'S REALLY LONG - THOUGH APPARENTLY YOU GUYS LIKE TO READ WHAT I WRITE SO MAYBE YOU'RE HAPPY THERE'S A LOT THIS TIME
> 
> It's definitely disproportionate to the other characters though. Might as well call this the Karkat Vantas Rumpus Rodeo. There had to be a lot happening, okay? I'm unraveling things and asking more questions. Can't tell you when the next chapter will go up, but I need a break from editing all that - it's about 30 pages in MS Word!


	9. Magdalene

_It was a hot summer day in Derse – an awful turn of events, if you asked anyone. Summer was a hot month, but it should have never been this hot – and yet the Crown Prince thrived in it. He couldn’t explain why even if he tried; the heat rejuvenated him rather than sucked the air from his lungs, and more often than not he could be found running about the courtyards, caring not if his fair skin was burned to a searing, blistered red because of it._

_“You should really put on some kind of sun cream,” Nepeta told him on that day. They were close to thirteen years of age and high in a tree, she dangling fearlessly by bent knees from a branch and he sitting upon another, leaning against the trunk. He’d brought a long blade of grass with him and stuck it in the corner of his mouth, eyes distant behind triangle spectacles._

_“Nah.”_

_She pouted. “But Dirk! Last year you got really badly burnt!_ Three _times!”Nepeta swung up once, twice, until she righted herself on the third time, a hand clutching the blue cap on her head. It was still as soft and durable as the day it had been made for her. “What’re you trying to prove, hmmmm?”_

_He shifted the blade in his mouth. “Not a damn thing.”_

_It was a lie, yes, but Dirk knew from experience that if he said little – and said it with as bored a tone as he could muster, mind you – others would believe him. As much time as he spent with this particular troll studying their Art, he and Nepeta were in fact very different people, and thus used their abilities differently. Nepeta had a knack for putting souls together with other ones, fitting them with the missing pieces of their lives, an innate matchmaker. He could sense the strings of souls, and knew exactly how to tug them to bend others to his will. If he kept Nepeta from catching wind of anyone he could be fitted with, then his life became all the better._

_Especially since he wanted to take care of this kind of thing on his own, had hoped against hope that after every burn his skin would turn lovely and dark, to match with…_

_Ah, but that would be telling._

_Nepeta simply groaned and flopped back to hang from the branch once more. “Isn’t all the blood rushing to your head?” Dirk asked._

_“Noooope. I am purrfectly fine this way, but thank you for asking!” She tapped her temple. “I need the blood there anyway. I’m thinking.”_

_Not a rare occurrence by any means, but he had to ask. “About?”_

_“Serendipity.”_

_“Our reading topic?”_

_“Yes!” She applauded him excitedly. “Whether things in our lives are meant to happen, and for reasons! It’s bothering me and I want to know why.”_

_“Maybe because you’d rather make your own destiny, rather than have it dictated by something you can’t control?”_

_“Oh, I don’t mind that part-” (Sour disappointment rose in the back of Dirk’s throat) “-It’s more like wondering if maybe, purrhaps, someone can figure out Serendipity befur it happens!”_

_Another shift of the blade. “You’d have to be a Seer to do that.”_

_She blew a raspberry. “And be all purrsnikitty like Rose? No thanks!”_

_He chuckled at the word in her mouth, and some of what weighed down his heart lifted, if for just a moment. “You put too much stock into the idea that whatever fate has in store for you is right. That it’ll be exactly what you want it to be.”_

_“And you don’t think that’s a good idea?”_

_“It just doesn’t seem smart is all.”_

_“Smart doesn’t matter! If it’s meant to be, it’s gotta be fine, right?” She crossed her arms and closed her eyes, looking as smug as an alley cat that had made off with the catch of the day. “Just like how me and Equius are meant to be. That’s working out purrfectly, and it is definitely serendipity, wouldn’t you say?”_

_Could he say? Really? Dirk wasn’t sure. As much as he’d grown up around trolls and knew their ways through osmosis, as often as he’d helped Equius prepare things for Nepeta where the troll’s strength would hinder him, Dirk knew he couldn’t properly understand what it was to know you were meant for anyone, especially in a pale way. All he knew was how to want with all he had, and when he wanted something, he looked to get it no matter the means._

_For now, he simply shrugged and let the day pass on. The next morning he woke to the tightness and sting of sunburn, and Nepeta had disappeared from the palace grounds._

~*~

The journals were still there, resting in the iron box. They had not been marred in any way, nor did they look disturbed, though the rest of the throne room was a right mess, various articles of discarded clothing hanging off of chairs and all sorts of things involved in revelry strewn about the room. To be fair, Jane highly doubted it had been Meenah’s doing. Her target had clearly been Kankri and Kankri alone.

“Strange she wouldn’t take these,” Jane said, kneeling down by the journals. The others were in a state of shock and stupor, still reeling from their night of fun and only just registering recent events. They tried to ask Karkat what had happened, but he sat silent at the table, Gamzee draped across his shoulders like a blanket and humming tunelessly into the smaller troll’s hornbed. “You would think an enemy that makes a show of being all seeing and all knowing would order their underlings to snatch away anything that we could finagle into an advantage. Maybe she didn’t notice them?”

Dirk groaned beside her and held his head. He nursed some kind of hangover, she guessed, but at least he made an attempt to be coherent. “It’s a big, heavy box filled with stuff nearly as old as the dirt it was pulled out of, Jane. It’s kind of hard to miss.”

“Then maybe she didn’t know what the journals were? Or she didn’t take the time to find out. She was…in an awful big hurry.”

“I think it’s more likely that she just didn’t give a shit.” Briefly, Dirk pushed up his spectacles to rub at his eyes. The party really hadn’t helped the dark bags forming under them. “Meenah had her orders and she followed through with them. That was what mattered.” He paused to let out a hiss of breath. “Or maybe to them it doesn’t matter what we dig up? I don’t know. Fuck, it’s bright.”

“Oh hush, you big baby, there’s barely a lick of sunlight in here.” She pressed a hand to his shoulder despite her chiding, and Dirk leaned into her touch. “The bottom line is, we’ve still got what we’ve been given. We should make use of it.”

“How? You want to start up a reading circle again? Because that didn’t really get us too far.”

No, it really hadn’t. Jane would admit that readily. “First and foremost, I think Karkat would be the best candidate to handle the books. Kankri…was clearly something to him. A long lost relative of sorts, or another version entirely if you truly believe these Beforans are our old reincarnations.” Her gaze turned to her General, and she sighed. “But he shouldn’t do it alone. I think he’s in mourning.”

Dirk nodded. “Yeah. Guess he could be. Plus it’s a lot to sift through for one guy. Do you really think he’s up to the task of picking someone right now though?”

It wouldn’t be fair to push Karkat into that kind of situation so soon; Dirk was right. “No. I suppose not. But we’ve got to get the jump on this. We’ve only got another month until we’re accosted again – less than, even!”

“Yeah, I know. We’ll deal with it later.”

“See, that’s the hangover talking! You just want to take the easy way out.” She took a moment to glance around the room. “I really don’t think anyone in here is fit to discuss what to do but me. It’s probably not the best plan, but maybe we should reconvene when everyone’s feeling better?”

“ _Not_ the best plan? Excuse me, that’s the most wonderful plan ever conceived. We need to get a head start on that _now_.” Dirk tugged weakly at Jane’s arm and lowered his voice. “C’mon, Jane. We’re late for a very important date with my bed.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And I’ve got to come with you because…?”

“Because I’m going to snuggle the shit out of you, duh.” His forehead lay on her shoulder languidly, and Jane wondered if anyone was staring. “And then maybe we can have pancakes later. Pancakes will soak up the alcohol. Like magic sponges that make everything better. Magic golden sponges.” He paused and blinked slowly. “Dammit. I had a whole spiel about them, but I think it’s hiding behind this pounding headache because I can’t even remember half of it.”

The others seemed preoccupied with nursing their own horrors and hangovers, so Jane slipped her arm under Dirk’s and began to lead him out to the caravans. “So you _do_ like my pancakes, hmm?”

“Yeah, did I not tell you?”

She gave a chuckle. “I only had a hunch that you did.”

“Well lay that hunch to rest because it is completely fucking confirmed. I have seen the light at last, Jane, and it is fluffy and delicious.” When the door opened to the outside he shied away from the sun’s rays, keeping his head down and his eyes shut tight. “Do you know how hard it was to keep my composure after that first mouthful? I thought I was gonna pass out from holding in all that bliss.”

He continued on with such sweet things even as they clamored into his caravan and up to his bed, where he was tucked in and she sat beside him, a hand slipped under the covers to hold his and his spectacles safe in her lap. Only tufts of Dirk’s hair could be seen from the edge of the blanket, and he muttered a million silly nothings before he finally fell asleep.

Jane stayed and watched him until she curled up beside him and closed her eyes – not to sleep, though she was tired, but to think.

~*~

The afternoon was strange. In every noble and royal there was a sort of lethargy that sapped the strength from their limbs, but most of them had slept through a great part of the day and could not fall asleep again. They gathered in the throne room and spoke in soft voices, some still wincing from the lingering dregs of headaches. They picked at bland food to keep their stomachs settled, and conversation came slowly.

Kankri’s journals, it was decided, would go to Karkat and Eridan to parse – the seadweller on the merit that he was the only one who could read the passages scrawled in those unfamiliar blocky letters. They were to begin their research tomorrow, and anything that seemed important to know about the Beforans of the ancient past was to be brought to the attention of the others immediately. Their efforts, however, were not Dirk’s main concern. As soon as the work had been assigned he called for maps and figurines and set them up on the table in various formations. He was utterly convinced that he and Nepeta were next to fight, and he wanted everyone to be ready for it.

“This isn’t going to dissolve into a grudge match or a standoff,” He said, pushing a figurine of a calvaryman to the front lines, “We’re going to make this an actual battle whether they like it or not, and we’re going to win. That’s probably why they opt for one-on-one more often than not, because they know we’ll kick their asses through sheer numbers alone, and they’re hoping they can thin us out first.” Dirk looked to Nepeta across the table. She sat in her own seat today, and she flipped the pages of her little notebook again and again, a flurrying nervous tic. “They are dead fucking wrong. Right, Nepeta?”

There was a beat. Her eyes flickered up to Dirk, then down again to her notebook. “Uh, sure. Yeah!”

“A little more enthusiasm wouldn’t kill you.” He placed a small wooden cat next to the calvaryman. “In fact, it may keep us all from being killed.”

Over the next few days Dirk’s planning became more fervent. He seemed everywhere at once, in the stables with the horses and with the soldiers conducting drills, in the throne room scribbling down battle plans and on the slope of the domed mountain, marching back and forth for endurance. He only slept and ate when Jane made him do so, and as such, she watched him like a hawk and pulled him away whenever he started to falter in his steps or nod his head. What a boy to fall in love with, of all people! He’d kill himself before the Ides arrived if he continued on like this.

The Benefactor’s letter came as expected, exactly a week after Kankri’s abrupt departure. It sat neatly in the middle of the throne room’s table that morning, and Dirk swiped it to read before anyone else could reach it. When finished he crumpled it up.

“Heart’s next,” He said, “Just like I knew it would be. And apparently another tie’s been called, since Kankri didn’t fight. What a bunch of bullshit.”

That was all he said of the contents, and when the others pressed him for more he did not relent, but delved even deeper into his training and was rarely swayed to rest.

All of this was well and good for the young King (or so he thought, if one asked the young Queen), but in the case of Lady Leijon, battle was the very last thing on her mind. She was not afraid of the Beforans like the others had been, and did not dread coming to blows with someone who shared her face. She fought with a set of special gloves fitted with long claws and could leap and pounce with as much grace and agility as a real cat, something she had developed in her many expeditions into the Scratchlands in her earlier sweeps. Crossing the expanse alone and without aid of the roads it bore today was a difficult venture, nigh suicidal even, but if one meant to do it, one must be prepared. She had fought with bears over fish in the streams and had mimicked the great cats of the forest in their movements, learning the art of the hunt. What could the Beforans do to match something like that? Nothing, surely.

So it was not the battle that occupied her mind – it was her heart.

Hearts were something Nepeta thought of often – hearts and spades and diamonds and clubs. Quadrants were a never-ending source of fascination for her, and she delighted in tying threads of red and black and pink and grey to pairs and trios of souls to see how they interacted. In the brooding caverns, after signing in, she helped many a troll with empty spaces hitch up together, and had made many friends this way. She still wrote to them on occasion, and every single coupling (or in the case of ashen romance, tripling) was intact since she had bound it, grown stronger even. There was no other word for it but serendipity.

But wait, she had thought to herself, it was all well and good to give such happiness to other trolls. Why not try to find it for herself?

She already had Equius – and truth be told, she had not always been the best moirail. She had left him and Derse when they were six sweeps old and wound up in Prospit, addled and pampered by Calliope like all the rest. But when they were together, they balanced out perfectly, and pale serendipity was an important thing. It kept them both healthy and busy, it gave them someone to confide in and solace in this trying time of war. Most trolls wouldn’t ask for any other perfect quadrant and let things play out for the others.

Not Nepeta. She wanted a matesprit. A real one, not a pretend one like at the caverns. Vriska was reckless and fun and an interesting friend, but she wasn’t matesprit material, not for Nepeta anyway. She had gone through her life firmly believing that whoever was meant for her would make her heart flutter whenever she thought of them, would catch her eye in a crowd, would make her feel strong enough to take on the world for them. It would be the kind of flushing, sweeping pity that made bards cry as they sung their yarns and writers puzzled when made to describe it. She had met that someone – and they were named Karkat Vantas.

Equius didn’t approve. He would scrunch his mouth as if something had left a bad aftertaste in it when Nepeta brought up the topic, and he only demanded he take Karkat’s spot as kismesis in the caverns because he did not think the troll good enough for his moirail. Even so, he still let Nepeta speak of dreams where they were together (not _all_ of them – usually the tame ones, which often involved evisceration of game), and he humored her when she read aloud something new she had recorded in her notebook, a similarity or a moment where he brushed past and sent Nepeta all athrill. The notebook kept track of every romantic going-on in their group, each pairing’s pros and cons and support, and her section on herself and Karkat filled up a great many pages, most of which she had stuck in the book herself.

“I simply do not wish for you to forget that he is despicable,” Equius would say before he let her ramble on, “A foul-mouthed mutant cannot be anything but.”

Good grief! He really needed to let go of his hemo-prejudices. It was a work in progress for her.

Through Dirk’s insistent training and plans, she rested her chin in her hands and thought of Karkat. He’d rarely stayed with the others anymore, always reading his double’s journals and taking notes. How odd; she could recall no tome or document that had ever kept his attention for this long before. Even Eridan took breaks once in a while! What had gotten into the General?

Whatever bothered him, he must have told Gamzee. He and Karkat were almost as serendipitous as she and Equius were, written out in the stars it seemed, but Nepeta had tried that route. Gamzee, as devoted as he was, had a particularly loose tongue when it came to secrets, and it had only taken a bit of egging to learn that he too was in the dark as to Karkat’s whims.

(She felt bad about asking later, when she remembered how all of Gamzee seemed to droop with sadness. Poor, funny little clown troll. Clearly someone needed to give him a hug.)

So perhaps it was that Karkat didn’t want to tell Gamzee about  his troubles. What if he felt so bad he bottled everything up inside to the deepest point, never to come up in his bombastic displays? Such a thing was too much for Nepeta to bear, and when the Battle of Heart was a week away she could take it no longer. As soon as Jane had dragged Dirk from the table to get something to eat, the troll scurried out of the throne room and towards the Prospit trolls’ caravan. As she drew closer her steps became light and near silent; the eager sprint had turned into the cautious tread of a lioness.

Unlike the Derse caravans, these sported windows from which the inhabitants could soak up sunlight – everything was bright in Prospit, and Nepeta had always been grateful for it. Presently this caravan’s curtains were drawn, but there was the smallest crack in between them, and the sun would not shine behind her there. It was perfect! She could sit just underneath and peek through without casting a shadow, and if she was quiet and still, no one inside would notice her.

Olive eyes leveled with the crack. A hand reached out to balance on the caravan’s side, its touch light, and a blue tail waggled lazily.

Karkat Vantas was indeed inside the caravan. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he looked rumpled and unwashed. Nepeta was sure he hadn’t changed out of his clothes since the last time he had managed to show up for a meal. He sat with his back propped against his recuperacoon, one of Kankri’s journals open in his lap. A few were stacked beside him, already sporting tabs.

“-Not in chronological order, why am I not surprised?” She heard him say. “He just had to make it harder for us.”

Another voice answered him, not nearly as loud. Its inflections sounded oddly familiar, but Nepeta could not place who it belonged to. She frowned deeply and forced as much of her concentration to her ears as possible.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really give a shit about the nature of visions,” Karkat said in response. “I know he didn’t intend for someone else to find these let alone spend enough time to read this dribble. What about for himself? Did he never once consider putting the pieces together so he could look back and understand what happened?”

“Maybe…all sorted…in his head?”

Oh, this mumbling interloper would be Nepeta’s death. She strained harder.

“How the fuck do you sort all this in your head?!” With a growl Karkat chucked the book across the caravan, and Nepeta jumped when it hit the other side of the wall with a thud. “There’s two of us making notes and keeping tabs and cross-referencing historical text and we can barely figure out this bulgereek’s childhood recollections! Let alone the stuff we’re actually trying to place in the timeline!” He ran both hands through his hair. “What’s the point? What’s the fucking point of all this!?!”

There was a beat of silence, and something shifted in the caravan – Karkat’s company finally came into view. Nepeta felt like kicking herself when she saw him. Of course Eridan would be there if the journals were concerned! Why hadn’t she realized that earlier?

“Hey,” Eridan said, hands held up in peace, “ _Hey_.”

“Hey **_what_**.”

“Don’t say it like that, Kar, come on.” Slowly, Eridan made his way to Karkat’s side and knelt next to him. “You gotta calm dow-wn or you ain’t gonna make sense of anything. W-Want me to get Gam in here?”

The General shook his head. “I don’t want to bother Gamzee with this shit. I can handle it myself-”

The seadweller’s hands dropped to his sides and balled into fists. “You’re only _sayin’_ that because you think this is your fuckin’ burden! Look, I don’t giwe a _carp_ w-whether or not that w-weirdo claimed pacifism, he’s _killin’_ you from beyond the grawe! You…” The heat left his voice, and Eridan drooped. “You’re fuckin’ pitiful is w-what you are, and you’re stuck w-with me in this w-whether you like it or not.”

Something about the scene before her sent a foreboding shiver down Nepeta’s spine. Her tail became taunt and tense.

“…” Karkat hung his head and pulled himself in, until he looked so very small. It was an oddly submissive gesture from such a troll. “I never said…that I didn’t like working with you.”

“Then w-what’s up here, Kar? You’re mixin’ your signals, it’s like a beacon-hiwe leadin’ a ship into a cliff side.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do at all, I…” Karkat’s mouth moved, but he made no sound, and he looked at Eridan with wide eyes. “It’s hard. Okay? It’s really hard. All of this is hard. I feel like there’s a whole procession of idiots in my head, playing every instrument in the world with as much finess as a tone deaf quackbeast missing half its pan. There’s so much going on and…I can’t focus anymore. It’s – It’s freaking me out.”

Nepeta couldn’t help but melt. It took so much not to rush inside to comfort Karkat, to let him know that everything would be alright, and it reached a fever pitch in her just as she noticed something in Eridan’s eyes. It was a Look she recognized from lonely nights, where her heart ached and her only company was her reflection in the mirror.

It was longing.

A sharp breath stuck in her throat. “No,” Nepeta mewled.

But the world kept moving around her, and the scene before her continued.

“You gotta breathe sometimes, Kar,” Eridan said, inching ever closer, “It’s not good to let your pan fill like that. Just breathe, and focus on one thing at a time. Push all the other stuff aw-way.” He rested his hands on Karkat’s shoulder. “Here, practice on me. Breathe slow-w and just focus on me.”

There was a jerky nod from Karkat, and his chest heaved as he sucked in breath. He held it for a moment, eyes locked onto Eridan’s, and as he breathed out they leaned closer, closer, closer…

She couldn’t watch this, and at the same time, she couldn’t look away.

~*~

They really should work on planting things before the seasons changed, Dirk thought, or they would have to put it off until next spring. That would be a huge pain in the ass.

After finishing enough food to leave Jane satisfied (about half a plate, all he could bear to stomach), Dirk took to the grass corridor to meditate, sitting cross-legged under the picture frame. It was hot in there from the sun and glass roof, and he sweated profusely, but that was all part of the process. He was clearing his head, focusing on the inane and mundane in order to feel fresh and ready to tackle more planning later on. At the very least, he did not have to meditate nearly as long as he would have to sleep to achieve the same results.

His mind had wandered to the types of plants he had in mind for the corridor, which included orange trees and tiger lilies and perhaps some creeping ivy, when one of the doors burst open and scampering footfalls entered. He opened one eye.

“Who’s there?” He asked. The footsteps came to a halt, and there was a cautious sniffle.

“D-Dirk…?”

Oh, no. He knew that voice. Both eyes opened he rose from the grass, leaning against the empty space in the picture frame as Nepeta drew closer, shuffling around the corner. Her eyes were olive all over, and tear tracks shined on her cheeks. She had taken off her worn blue hat to dab at her eyes, but it looked thoroughly soaked. For a moment Dirk was not a King, not a plotter of war. He was Dirk, because Dirk was what was needed.

Nepeta came to a stop in front of her tower door and bristled as he tried to draw near. Okay, so she didn’t want any closeness from him. That was fine. There were some who were better equipped to handle her in times of need than he was, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give it a try. All he had to do was send out some vibes, let his shoulders slacken, keep his hands in his pockets and cock his head enough to show curiosity and concern. “What’s up?” He asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing is up.”

“Y’know, Leijon, color me a moron if that’s the case, but I’m getting the feeling here that there is definitely something up. You wanna talk?”

Another shake of the head.

“You need a pile and a feelings jam? I think Zahhak is-”

“I _do not_ want to talk to _Equius_ about this!!!” Dirk nearly jumped out of his skin as she continued, words bubbling forth like a gushing brook. “He’ll say – he’ll say – _despicable_ and – and he’s not – he’s not but – he doesn’t _know_ but-”

Clearly the subject of moirail intervention was not the right topic. “Okay. Okay, alright. No blue sweaty mouthbreathers. I’m readin’ that clear as crystal.” He itched to come closer, to at least give her a hug. She was all hells of kinds of pitiable right now, small and racked with sniffling hiccups. There had to be _some_ thing he could do.

“I do not want to talk to _anyone_ ,” Nepeta stressed. She grasped at her chest. “I just – I want-”

“Just want what?”

She drew a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Dirk felt himself prepare to flinch. “ _I just want to be left alone furever!!!!_ ”

And with that she tore open her tower door and slammed it behind her, her footsteps echoing up the stairs to her chambers. With her absence, a sadness settled in Dirk. Perhaps he should have led them out to the tree line of the Scratchlands and climbed up the branches of some old oak and talk, like they used to do so long ago. Maybe trying to corner a cat (or anyone catlike) was just asking for trouble.

Either way, no answers would come from Nepeta in this state. He sighed and sat upon the grass again, resolving to inquire with the others at the soonest spare moment.

~*~

The thing about spare moments is that they never come when you are in most need of them. They collect into long, boring days where the tasks are few and worries insignificant. When one is busy carrying the weight of kingdoms on their shoulders, even a fraction of a second to breathe is a luxurious allowance. In short, the Battle of Heart arrived before Dirk could ask his fellows a single thing about what they had seen of Nepeta that fateful day. She hadn’t appeared below for the whole week, or at least Dirk had not seen her.

“I would like to think she at least ate at night, when no one was around,” Jane suggested as he hung back behind his troops to tell her of the ordeal. Lady Leijon had come down for the battle, but had said not one word to her King nor to anyone and led her troops in the front with a grim and weary air. “Poor dear! I had wondered where she’d gone.”

“Yeah, you and everybody else,” Dirk said. He thought back to just days ago, when he’d found Equius sitting resolutely in front of her tower door, barely breathing, waiting for her to allow him inside. Their bond demanded his presence, but his respect for her stayed his strength and left the door on its hinges. “She’s here now, though. I guess that’s what matters.”

Jane hummed and frowned. There was a lot more than just Nepeta’s presence that mattered, of that she was certain, but if the troll would not talk, they could not help her. Besides, what room was there for comfort when a battle loomed ahead?

This time, as they came to the top of the domed mountain, a crackle of Space appeared from the other side and Beforan troops marched up to meet them. This looked to be the first proper army of the lot; each troll was uniform in size and black armor, with only horns to distinguish them. Jane could make out infantry and cavalry, canon crews and lines of soldiers with rifles and swords and all sorts of weapons. It was the closest they had seen to their enemies coming in with guns blazing, and beside her Jane felt Dirk relax.

“They’re armed to the teeth and orderly,” He said, “Which means they’re not banking on their General to pull a deus ex machina on us. Or it’s a ruse.”

“Well it’d be nice to know which one it is!”

He rolled his shoulders and brought a hand to the hilt of his sword. “Won’t know that until we’re in the thick of it.”

Dirk left her side, melding seamlessly through the troops until he stood at the front with Nepeta, casting glances at her whenever he could. The Beforans came to a stop yards away, and they were silent. None parted for an approaching General or signaled to continue their march. They stood in anticipation, eyes glinting from slits in heavy helmets, fingers ever adjusting the grips on their weapons.

The scrape of an unsheathed sword broke the silence, and Dirk raised his blade in the air, eyes set on the Beforans. He pointed it forward. “CHARGE!”

And that was it – that was the catalyst! As soon as the troops of Prospit and Derse made to move, so did the Beforans, and the two armies roared as they met in a fearsome clash. Every soldier struggled to diffuse through the opposing army and cut down the highest ranks, but neither side made it easy. The Beforans were lost in the swarm of troops with little chance to pick out the leaders of Prospit and Derse, while they could not pinpoint just who it was that led the rebel trolls. All one could hope for was to avoid bullet and blade, and make it out the other side of the battle alive.

That being said, it soon became apparent that while the Beforans were a well equipped army, the combined efforts of two kingdoms were too much for them. Having several factions enabled them to put one of Dirk’s most rehearsed plans into action. It was essentially simple; from the line formation they took in marching up the mountain, every royal and noble split off to surround the Beforans from all sides and fought tooth and nail to hem them in. This mostly counted on troops being able to dodge canon blasts and to stand their ground when cavalry tried to thunder through the ranks, and they did so with a hard boiled tenacity, leaders trusting that their peers did the same and advancing ever further, capturing canons and turning them on the Beforans, toppling horses with no regard for their riders.

Yes, it seemed that the battle would be won easily.

Too easily.

Jane would have thought as much, were she not locked with one Beforan after another, ducking under swords meant to catch her neck so her head would go flying. Instead it was Dirk who realized it, after lodging his blade through the helmet slit of the twelfth troll who’d come at him. The others began to give him a wider berth, focusing on fighters who posed less of an imminent threat, and he frowned, yanking his sword from his opponent’s head. There was something off about it all, he could sense it, as if the strings of souls were being yanked in mimicry of his expectations rather than allowing him to pull them himself.

Now that could never be right.

Dirk sheathed his sword and ducked his head, sprinting through the throng with such speed and lightness of foot that to those around him, his passing by was but a flash. He scanned the crowd, picked out faces he knew embroiled with the enemy and counted them off in his head as he circled ‘round the battle. There was Jane, John, Jake, Rose, Roxy; Karkat, Kanaya, Terezi, Vriska, Gamzee; Equius, Eridan, Feferi –

Nepeta. It hit him suddenly, and he nearly stumbled to a halt. Where was Nepeta?

A wordless command rippled through the Beforans, it seemed, and they began to band tightly together. There was a squeal of surprise, and a spot of blue rose from the wave of black helmets, followed by a flailing, claw-gloved hand.

Dirk’s heart dropped. “Nepeta!!”

The crowd was almost impossible to penetrate now, but Dirk did it anyway, shoving aside all who stood in his way and diving through what few gaps that he could find. Every once in a while Nepeta’s head would bob above the others, and her arms would flail wildly, but she could not break free. Why was that? She was surely strong enough, as agile and slippery as a cat; she should be able to pull herself out of the sea of people and leap from head to head with no trouble.

It was the moment that Dirk broke into the very center of the Beforan troops that he realized he had made a grave mistake.

There had been a small space left at the very top of the domed mountain, and there on the grass lay Nepeta. _Some_ thing had brutally clawed her throat open, olive blood only just slowing in its flow, but the most awful thing was the absence of her hat. Someone had stripped it from her head – for a trophy, perhaps?

Oh, if that were the case, there were quite a few things Dirk wanted to take for a trophy himself. He drew his sword and kept his mouth pressed closed against the welling lump in his throat.

“Oh?? He’s here?! Mog, he got here fast!!”

The voice that rang out was crisp even in the din of battle, but only because it was extraordinarily loud. The troops parted to reveal a lithe figure in black, armorless, with long wild hair and a face he had long associated with a purring lilt. Hands bearing eerily familiar clawed gloves still dripping with olive blood clutched tightly to Nepeta’s missing hat, and Dirk immediately leveled his sword.

“Oooh, you’re feisty!! Just like I’d hoped!!” The words accompanied a grin far too much like that of a troublemaking cat’s, and pearly eyes scrunched in delight.

“Cut the crap,” Dirk said, and he jabbed the point at the troll. “Let me guess. Your last name is Leijon?”

The troll gasped dramatically. “Whoa!! Are you some sort of mind reader?! That’s exactly right!!” She gave a curt little bow. “General Meulin Leijon, the Magdalene Mage!! Thaaaaat’s me!!”

A shiver ran from the nape of his neck to the tip of his tailbone. “Yeah. Seeing as I’m not a fucking dimwit and can piece a scene together, I can’t say I’m altogether thrilled to meet you.” He burned inside, burned like the hottest coals in the belly of a furnace, but everything from his stance to his tone was set on ice. “How the fuck did you kill one of my nobles without anyone realizing it?”

“Hmm??” Meulin blinked once, twice, and looked down at Nepeta’s lifeless form. “She came at me first!! And right from the start, too!! I was only purrotecting myself!!” Dirk struggled to contain the urge to twitch as she continued. “She really gave her all!! But her heart was so heavy!! Have you ever felt someone with a heavy heart?? They can’t do anything but think about it!! So she was easy to beat – and look!! Isn’t this hat so cute?!” Meulin unceremoniously jammed the hat on her head. “It’s my new baby, Mog!!”

Alright. It was official. Every single one of these Beforans was severely cracked, and Dirk had heard enough.

However this Meulin had taken Nepeta down, whether through yowling and tumbling with claws locked or in a swipe taken out of sheer giddy lunacy, did not matter to the young King. He didn’t care if Nepeta may have had her head elsewhere as she fought, making her sluggish and sloppy. All he knew was that another person he cared about was _gone_ , and someone had to pay.

The very moment Dirk flashed forward and thrust with his sword, he realized that the Beforans had penned him into a crude arena, and he had severely underestimated this pixie of a troll. In that moment she shifted, crouching down below the reach of his blade, and with a mighty spring she lashed out, claws ready to tear his stomach opened.

He wouldn’t dare give her the pleasure.

The sword blade went down, parried the claws, then came up as the other set arched in an attempt to catch his face. The fence of flesh around them erupted into jeering howls. It was a game to them, a show, the gladiator of gladiators against the trickiest of lionesses, and the pair danced in clashes around her recent kill.

As this went on, all that remained of the courts of Prospit and Derse were being sucked in by the tight band of Beforans, while the other troops tried to pull back their Lords and Ladies, Dukes and Duchesses, and most importantly their Queen. It was an attempt to cage them, for these Beforans were cocky. Having seen the spilt blood of their General’s double, they had been emboldened to bring this great war to a swift and satisfying close and culminate with a slaughter.

What they did not count on was Dirk’s strength in Heart.

(It could be argued, of course, that they would not think to incorporate Heart into their movements because they could not use the Arts themselves, but in this instance it was most definitely enthusiastic oversight.)

Whether she knew it or not, Meulin held the strings of all her soldiers, fanning the flames of their very souls in pursuit of violence. Dirk could not see them, but he could sense them, intertwined and tangled across the battlefield and meeting in her. If he could land one blow in that one place he could sever that tie, scattering the Beforans to the wind and felling their General. All he had to do was tug on her own string for a bit to make her falter, and then….

He would only have one chance to strike.

“I bet you jumped on Nepeta by surprise,” He said, pushing back on Meulin in his parry, “There’s no way she could’ve gone down in a fair fight against someone like you.”

“You can’t say that for sure!!” Meulin exclaimed. Still no flaw in her footwork, no pause in her strikes. “Her form was very poor!! And her eyes were sad!! She was heartbroken!!” A frown. “How could you let her go on like that?! You’re terrible!!”

The words rolled of Dirk’s back like water. “Hey kitty, it takes two to tango, you know?” Another parry. He pushed harder, and Meulin wavered slightly. “Give and take. It’s a yin and yang of shitty pleasantries, you can’t have one without the other. How can you say you study Heart and not know that?”

Meulin growled softly and rolled one of her shoulders before its arm shot forth. “I know a lot more about it than you _efur_ could!!!!”

Time seemed to slow down in that moment, and Dirk saw his chance. He thrust out with his blade and flash-stepped once more.

It truly was as if a slew of marionettes had all fallen to the ground, strings cut, when steel met flesh and pierced a beating heart. The roar of battle became deafening silence. Dirk let his blade linger in Meulin’s chest and watched her choke and twitch, spectacles rendering him impassive, and then he yanked it out, turning away as she gurgled her last into the grass. As the troops of Prospit and Derse chased the leaderless and spirit-extinguished Beforans down the mountain, whether to the castle to become prisoners or towards the Scratchlands until Space zapped them away, those who remained, those of royal blood and noble hatch, looked on, dumbfounded as Dirk stood over two lifeless bodies, his sword stained olive and the sun glinting on his wet cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the beginning of my entire excuse to write this sequel. I have been waiting so long to get to the precipice of this point...but on the other hand, I don't think this chapter is too bad. I've been reading some work from Walter Moers at Arbit's suggestion and it's really helped spark enthusiasm in me! Feels good man, feels good.


	10. Rainbow

_The Scratchlands are a fearsome place. The wood is dark, the branches ever entangled, the leaves like outstretched hands fitting fingers together to block out as much of the sun as possible. It is nothing like the golden halls of Prospit’s palace, and Kanaya could not help but shiver._

_There are shouts and clashing swords ringing out all around, but for now she was safe. The fearsome soldiers in purple armor had divided their defense quickly, and all she had thought to do in the confusion was hide. Calliope’s presence, an ever-flowing calm and warmth, ebbed weakly at the corners of her mind, and it felt so wrong to be without her._

_And it was all over an ugly, crumpled hat._

_Kanaya had not understood why there was such a fuss about it. A high-ranked officer of the Prospitian army had come storming in one day, brandishing his cap and lamenting its previous shape. Calliope did her best to soothe the man and even offered to replace it, but for him, no other hat would do. Why even bother wearing the thing, Kanaya had thought, when Calliope showed it to them – it was a hideous thing, snot green and paisley to boot. Who in their right mind wore a snot green paisley cap with the fine gold of Prospit’s uniforms? Yet here they were, brought by Calliope’s crackling Space, on a hunt for the creature that had so offended the officer. Suffice to say they did not find the creature, but an army instead, Derse’s of all things. Naturally, Derse’s troops did what any sensible troops did._

_They started a fight._

_Kanaya was shaken from her thoughts by something shifting at her side. That’s right, she was not alone. When the Dersites descended on them, Kanaya had grabbed the first hand she could reach and concentrated with all her might on a safe place, a hidey-hole of some kind. As luck would have it, when her Space crackled into being, it mingled with that of someone who had a bit more leverage with the power and brought them to the underbelly of a large tree, dirt and roots creating a perfect nook to weather the battle in. She had turned, and come face to face with a grinning Duchess of Harley._

_“We shouldn’t be sitting here,” Jade complained, her voice a whisper on the wind, “We should be fighting! This is completely unfair. What did we ever do to those Derse guys?”_

_The troll smiled wryly. “As I understand it? We exist.”_

_It made the Duchess chuckle, and hopefully took the edge off of her gung-ho desires. Calliope had forbidden the court to take weapons, though they had all been studying how to fight. Kanaya could not blame Jade, though. Her hands itched for her toothed saber, which she had only just learned to manipulate with Space, increasing the destructive power of every slice._

_“We’re only looking for some big cat,” Jade said, “They should stop to hear us out! Then nobody would die over a hat.”_

_“I concur entirely. They should be helping us instead of-”_

_A branch snapped nearby. There was a yowl, and the distinct sound of claws scrambling to dig into a tree trunk, and it came from just above their heads. Both Kanaya and Jade stilled._

_“…The cat?” Jade whispered._

_“_ A _cat,” Kanaya corrected._

_“It could be_ the _cat.” Jade wriggled herself forward. “I’ll go see if it is.”_

_“And then what will you do?”_

_“I’ll zap it to Calliope! And then we’ll go home.” The Duchess paused at the mouth of their nook to look around. “There’s no soldiers here. I’m gonna check.”_

_“Be careful!” Kanaya called, but Jade was gone in a flutter of her golden dress._

_There was a moment of pure silence, and then…_

_“Whoa!”_

_Something scampered in the underbrush. A yowl sounded._

_“Hey, get back here!!!”_

_That was Jade, and judging by her footfalls, she had torn after the cat with dogged determination. A thrill of panic shot through Kanaya. Where was Jade going? She couldn’t leave her in these woods alone, she’d be killed for sure! With a bit of difficulty she clamored out of her hiding place._

_“Jade, wait…!”_

_But it was no use. Jade had disappeared into the wild, and not even the gold from her clothes could be spotted flashing between the trees. Kanaya turned this way and that, eyes narrowed, searching for her friend with urgency. What if Jade fell into a ravine, or was ambushed by Dersites, or eaten by the cat? If she was, it would all be Kanaya’s fault, and Jade couldn’t die. None of the humans could, or surely all of Prospit would be lost. They already could not reach their estranged Princess – the last thing they needed was another hole in the royal family!_

_So consumed with worry was she that Kanaya did not notice the dark figures emerging from the woods. They had spotted her emerald adornments and muttered to themselves. Was that the troll? It must be greenblooded. Why would it wear green things? Are you_ sure _that’s the troll?_

_The very instant Kanaya felt their eyes upon her, men and trolls in purple burst forth and skewered her right through the middle. She fell to the ground, and she was dead._

_Technically, she was also dead when she woke up._

_Any other troll considered a lowblood on the hemospectrum would have died from the injury she sustained, especially after losing the amount of blood that she had left behind in the Scratchlands, but some twist of fate had given her another chance at life through the existence of a creature she had read many a story about. In the dark room she had been placed in, her skin gave off a distinct glow, and she knew she had become a Rainbow Drinker._

_This was the only thing that kept her calm. She examined her hand in the darkness, watched the light’s flickering trail as she moved it this way and that. She was alone and in pain in a strange place, yes, but it was not every day that one became a wonder._

_Footfalls broke her from her reverie, and she snapped her head towards them, eyes growing wide. Her situation made itself terribly apparent as a voice sounded, filling her with an irrational and inescapable dread._

_“It is not the Nepeta troll,” It said, like earth crunching as it shifted against itself, “But I do believe she makes a fine prize. For our valiant efforts!” The footsteps stopped, and the voice was at its loudest. “If my sister has taken one of mine. We shall keep one of hers. Is that not fair?”_

_No response. There was a click, and a door opened before Kanaya, filling the room with light. Strangely, her eyes did not need to adjust to the shift, and she could see the green, hulking figure before her perfectly well, terror rolling off of him in waves._

_“Do you like her?” He asked. “You can keep her if you like her. She is not to my tastes.” His face was naught but a gruesome skull filled with daggered teeth and red, red eyes. As far as Kanaya knew, only Calliope had a skull for a head, and she was kind and beautiful. Who was this monster?_

_A figure stepped forward then, and the light seemed to shimmer around them like a halo. It was a human girl, about Kanaya’s age, small and pale with inquisitive lavender eyes. Her mouth was set in the slightest quirk of a smile, and her arms were crossed in front of her chest._

_“You know what?” Said the girl, her voice like velvet, “I think I will.”_

_Although Kanaya had no way of knowing it, this was the beginning of the most unusual relationship she would ever encounter in her entire unlife._

~*~

“I…will not…permit you to _experiment_ on her.”

Equius stood before Meulin’s body. Nepeta’s had already been placed in the pyre, and she ascended into smoke above their heads. Dirk stood before the blueblood with squared shoulders and an increased tick to his jaw.

“I know this is hard for you,” Dirk began, “But that troll, no matter how much she looks like Nepeta, _isn’t_ Nepeta. If the Beforan Clean-Up Crew hasn’t come to fetch her, we need to make use of this opportunity to learn-”

“What would **_you_** do?!” Equius bellowed. “How would you feel if it was your loved one’s face on that body?!?” Sweat poured down him in rivulets, and he grit his teeth against an apology. To stand up to a King took every ounce of self control he had and tossed it right out the window, Jane could see that perfectly.

Dirk was still. He breathed slow, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and stared straight into Equius’s eyes, or so it seemed. A full minute passed, and he finally turned away.

“Put her on the pyre when Nepeta’s…when she’s done.”

With that he hurried off, and Jane scrambled to follow him. The others were far too distraught to consider backing up Dirk, though his argument was sound. They had set to work to prepare their friend for her final sendoff, and no one had yet come to spirit away Meulin’s body. They may never get another chance like this again, but sentimentality and pain had triumphed today. There was no helping it.

When Jane finally caught up to Dirk, he had retreated to his caravan and climbed up to his loft. He lay on his stomach on Dave’s bed and pressed his face into the pillow, and not a sound came from him. Jane sat on Dirk’s bed, hands folded on her knees.

“…I thought of my Bro,” He said at last. “And then I thought of you. When he asked…you know.” His shoulders moved in an approximation of a shrug. “Sorry.”

Jane nodded. “It’s alright. Dave’s been gone a long time, and he’s more likely to have doubles.”

“That shit was uncalled for, though. Below the belt.”

“Can you blame him? I can’t imagine the pain Lord Zahhak must be suffering. He’s not right in the head, and won’t be for some time. He’s bound to take anything remotely related to…to what’s smarting, and, you know, lash out when it’s prodded.”

Dirk groaned. “Still below the belt. And inconsiderate. I get it, you know? Moirails. But she’s still…everyone is still…”

He gestured vaguely with one of his hands and let the sentence hang. Jane tilted her head.

“Family?” She guessed.

“…Something like that.”

The pair fell into silence, Dirk lost in his ruminations and Jane nursing the sprout of grief flourishing in her chest. It was grief for everyone, all they had lost, all they could have yet to lose, but most of it yearned for the one before her. Slowly, she rose to her feet and crossed the loft, slipping her hands around Dirk’s waist to give him a hug. He jerked and wiggled away.

“Don’t,” He said, and she pulled back immediately. When had his words become so cold? “I don’t – I want to think. Not to be coddled. Don’t fucking coddle me. What are we, babies? We’re adults and we’re fighting a war, don’t try to hug the boo-boos away.”

It was the first time Dirk had properly snapped at Jane. The last time he had shown her unkindness was not his doing, and very long ago. The sprout of grief twisted and hardened to a spike of frustration, and she turned away on her heel to stomp down from the loft.

Well, fine! If he was going to be difficult, she would not indulge him.

The rest of that day was spent in languid mourning, for it was hot and the air was humid enough that it felt like one had guzzled an entire glass of warm water with every breath. When the last of Nepeta had crumbled away, it was Meulin’s turn to rise into the sky.

~*~

The Benefactor’s letter came the very next day, tacked upon the castle’s front door with one of the claws of Meulin’s gloves – Nepeta’s were in Equius’s possession and had not been touched, so he affirmed. It read as such:

**So you have figured me out.**

**I did not believe, as many in my position would, that you did not have the mental capabilities to discern patterns, so it would be lying to say I am thoroughly enraged. On the contrary, I am quite pleased. Now our game can commence without pretense.**

**Yes, I am sending my Generals to you in accordance to their rank on the Hemospectrum, as is the proper way outlined by Beforan military strategists of the past. To wear down an enemy with waves of highly dispensable soldiers, each battalion growing stronger, until one side is wearied and can be felled even by an emerald platoon – that was my aim. But my Generals are not so much meant for leading others as they are for being led. They _want_ to engage your side in battle. They _want_ to behead their doubles on the field.**

**So, for the sake of their happiness, I yield to their demand.**

**This is no longer a battle of troops and forces. This is a construction of war of the highest rank, personal duels to determine the fate of your friends and countries. You may dismiss your soldiers if you wish, or keep them close. It does not matter to me. From now on, my Generals wish to confront you on their own terms.**

**Please restrict those who oppose them to whoever shares their respective Art, or my earlier promise to dismantle Prospit and Derse still stands.**

**Until the Ides,**

**The Benefactor of Beforan**

Everyone had read the letter by the time Jane reached it, nobles and servants alike. Soldiers in the crowd muttered amongst themselves, their brows dark and wrinkled. What were they doing here if they had no use? Why did they bother to march up and down the mountain every day if they were not going to fight – confirmed by the pen of their enemy no less! Jane tried to ignore the dread their whispers sent creeping up her spine and tore up the letter.

So the rules of this ‘game’ had changed. No longer did pretense hang over glorified death matches; the Beforans planned to eliminate the core of the kingdoms’ power. It made Jane sick to her stomach.

Dirk, on the other hand, was ecstatic, properly so for the first time in months. He had been right about the pattern, and now he knew where to place his focus: in the courts themselves, and Kanaya Maryam was the next step in the hemocaste.

He summoned the troll to his caravan that night, and she came, nostalgia tingling at her mind’s eye when she entered. The Derse Royal Caravan had, after all, once been her home for a very poignant time in her unlife.

As far as she could tell, Dirk was the only one inside. He sat on one of the couches bolted to the floor, legs hanging over an arm, and he fixed her with a gaze that pierced through his spectacles. He spoke only when she had sat across from him.

“You’re gonna have to train for the upcoming Ides. I’m not bothering with keeping armies here anymore – not every single group of troops, anyway. You never know when this guy might decide to change his mind, and we don’t want to be caught with our pants down. But so long as I’ve got confirmation of this being more like a duel, then it’s going to be prepared for like a duel, and you don’t have a second.”

Kanaya nodded. By second he meant Jade; she would be alone in this fight. If she lost, that was the end of Prospit and Derse.

“And how do you propose I train myself, Your Majesty?” She asked. He shrugged.

“Pretty much how anybody else trains. You practice, namely on other people.” Dirk gestured to himself. “I’m offering myself up for a sparring partner. Exclusive offer right here, getting to give a King a knuckle sandwich.”

“I use a toothed saber. Not my fists.”

“Well then use it to rip me to shreds if it helps, I don’t care. We’ll start tomorrow, early in the morning, and fight until we both collapse from exhaustion. Lather, rinse, repeat, and you should be able to take down your Beforan double without breaking a sweat-”

There was a sudden creak from above, and Dirk’s words halted abruptly as he looked up. One of the doors to the lofts opened, and out of all the blondes to poke out their head, it was Rose’s who had appeared.

“My,” She said dryly, “What a surprise. My dear cousin is soliciting my lover for a fight. Wherever shall this magnificent soap opera of our lives take us next?”

Kanaya allowed herself a chuckle as Dirk let his expression sour.

“You know it’s not like that,” He said. Rose shrugged and began to descend.

“Of course. But I do worry for what is in store for our intrepid little family. Hopefully, we’ll be able to take it.”

Dirk let himself flop back onto the couch. “Do you happen to know anything on that front? It’d be real swell if you shared.”

“Only as much as you, I’m afraid.” With her usual grace, Rose sat upon the couch next to Kanaya and let their shoulders brush. It was as much contact as propriety would allow. “Though Terezi and I have been cracking at that odd little episode we shared at the beginning of spring. The one predicting death among our members?”

“I remember. Any luck?”

Kanaya felt her ears tingle when Rose spoke next. “We have our guesses. With what we now know of the certainty of the battle order, it should be much easier to draw conclusions. We’re working on the hunch that each predicted incident is in chronological order, and the first two seem to fit with the deaths of Tavros and Nepeta.” She folded her hands in her lap. “We’ll need to investigate more, but once we’re certain of them, we can more accurately discern what is in store for our future.”

The young King nodded once, hands behind his head. “That’s not all you came down for, though. What do you want?”

“Not a thing! Why would you assume that?”

“Because I’m chatting it up with your girlfriend.”

Kanaya flushed a brilliant emerald, and she could feel the control of her phosphorescence loosen, her skin glowing in the dim caravan. Rose’s smile widened.

“Alright, you’ve caught me – and I shall come clean. I would like to offer myself as Kanaya’s sparring partner for her coming trials.”

There was the subtlest flicker of eyes from behind Dirk’s spectacles. “And that’s because…?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Well, the peanut gallery implores you to share.”

The Duchess leaned forward slightly, her back still ramrod straight. “There are things Kanaya can do that may be advantageous were she to put them to practice. Things that only I understand, and can _with_ stand. She would be more comfortable working on those things with me anyway, and rest assured that I will not neglect her training with a blade.”

A tingling chill ran down Kanaya’s spine, but not from fear. It came from a very different place, one that lingered on feathered kisses in the dark. “Rose-”

“Are we talking caste-specific powers here?” Dirk asked. He sat up and swung his legs around, letting his arms prop on his knees. “What is it, telekinesis? Mind control? I didn’t know the jade set had anything more than playing nanny in their repertoire – unless this is about that freaky troll vampire shit.”

Freaky troll vampire shit! Kanaya’s skin flared dangerously. Rose placed a hand on her shoulder and gently nudged her back.

“It happens to be a little more complicated than that,” She said, “But yes. It does entail ‘freaky troll vampire shit’. Honestly, for a King I imagined you would have added some refinement to your vocabulary.”

“Why the fuck should I bother when you do it for me?” He asked, examining his nails. “And so precisely, too. It’s like you strike whenever you see the perfect moment to insert frivolous explanations for the sole purpose of hearing yourself talk.”

“Ah! Touché.” She allowed herself a chuckle. “It must be a hereditary affliction.”

The cousins went on for quite some time, their wits in a friendly battle of sincerity and snark, but it was all lost on Kanaya. Her thoughts dwelled in places they rarely ventured, in the darkest corners of her mind where even her glow could not reach.

~*~

A great commotion filled the city the next day. Kanaya could see it from her caravan’s loft, the rippling and writhing of an entire population. The order had been given: all soldiers not in the personal forces of the King and Queen were allowed to leave, whether it be for home or for some other far-off station, and to be ever alert for the Beforans. They were jubilant, of course. Who wouldn’t be? After months of hard training, each climax culminating in confusion and lackluster battle, they were off duty! They could see their families and friends, they could venture into the field and protect those who could not protect themselves – it was more of an innate trait than anything, for only the best and most righteous ever made it to the ranks of even a noble’s army. They had the right to celebrate, just as those who were required to remain had the right to be irritable.

She could only watch it for a little while. Rose expected her, and Kanaya was always prompt.

The Duchess waited in Kanaya’s tower, the one place they would be sure to have privacy. Kanaya hadn’t taken to bringing much into it yet. She had millions of ideas to decorate it with swaths of fabric and embroidered pillows, big cabinets filled with little drawers to hold buttons and beads and other notions; if she stayed in the room for too long and had nothing else to focus on it drove her mad. It was too strange, to think that this would be her home until the end of her days, and that it would become familiar and cozy and entirely _hers_.

As for now, the room held little; there was an emerald chaise, the only piece of furniture yet to make it there from the Palace, as well as a wrought iron table she had bought in town that held an ornate kerosene lamp. On the floor were stacks of novels, most of them her own, some borrowed from the others. And, of course, Rose sat upon the chaise when Kanaya arrived, her nose in the trashiest of the books, her fingers obscuring the title. Her lavender eyes seemed to glow over the top of the book.

“You actually paid money for this drivel?” She asked, her voice more curious than scornful.

“No. It’s Jake’s book. He bought it thinking it was an adventure story and couldn’t get past the second page without turning bright red, so he made Karkat take it.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes.” Kanaya drew closer, seating herself beside Rose and folding her hands in her lap. “Karkat actually made it halfway through before he couldn’t stomach the rest. He made a scene at breakfast one morning and I decided to take it from him. It really was quite a row.”

With a hum, Rose shut the book and placed it on the top of the pile. “And what do you think of it?”

“To say that the narrative is shoddy would be a compliment, and to compliment it would be a grave error. But it does contain some interesting accuracies.” It was as she said this that Kanaya knew Rose had picked up the book for a reason. After all, one did not read (the title of which shortened by those concerned with brevity) _Troll Twilight_ expecting much substance to be found.

“Amazing what a person can glean of the world through a fever dream,” Rose said, and perched her chin on her hand, her elbow on the arm of the chaise. “The author is a latent seer, no doubt, or made up their supposed inspiration to cover up any personal connections to Rainbow Drinkers. If both assumptions were racehorses, I would bet my life on the latter and watch the outcome unfold quite comfortably.”

“I would like to think it was simply a lucky dream,” Kanaya said, “That and nothing more. I do not want to know if there really are others in the world like myself.”

Rose nodded sagely. “Of course. Your abilities far surpass anything expected of your caste. I would not wish to come across you were we not acquainted, and you were hungry.”

Oh yes, on that they could completely agree. Kanaya knew what she would do, were she a proper creature of the day. She would lurk after her own people as they stumbled through the midday sun or slumber in their ‘coons with curtains drawn. She would lie in wait until her prey rounded the corner and blind them with her glow, the drive in her to hunt encompassing her entire being, heightening her strength and awareness. She would bite down into their necks and drink deeply, until they were nothing more than husks of flesh, and move on to another and another until her thirst was finally satiated; or she would toy with her victims, send them into a brilliant euphoria of pheromones and heat before she sucked them dry-

A hand on her shoulder broke Kanaya from her gruesome thoughts. “The difference,” Rose said firmly, “Between you and any other Drinker that may walk this earth, is that you can control yourself.”

The troll gave a weak chuckle, and her glow flickered. “That and the meat on my plate is always left raw, Rose.”

“Yes, that too.” The Duchess rolled her shoulders and the collar of her shirt slipped down, revealing an expanse of her slender, pale neck. There were a few puncture scars, the skin stretched taunt and slightly pink over what once had been perfect wounds. Just the sight of them filled Kanaya with a strange, sick kind of pride. “I want you to begin immunizing yourself to your predatory drive. If you have control over your thirst and access to your heightened senses, you have the best chance of overpowering anything that the Benefactor shall pit against you. That, combined with combat, will be the key – and do not think you will fight alone, Kanaya. We will all be there to support you.”

Something in Rose’s voice struck a chord through the writhing satisfaction of those scars. It was as if she had made a quiet declaration to the stars above, and demanded them to try and prove her wrong. No doubt they shrunk back in fear and set to align themselves in whatever way she willed, for that was the faith Kanaya had in her lover’s power.

A muffled shout broke the moment, and Rose’s head jerked sharply towards the tower door. Kanaya turned, too, as another shout sounded.

“Did you hear that?”

“I did.”

“Can you tell who it is?”

“Not at all.” Rose pulled up the collar of her shirt, her scars hidden once more. “Maybe we should investigate? After all, whoever is making that racket may need our assistance.”

Kanaya gathered her skirts hurriedly and rose. “Hopefully not in a bad way.”

“Hopefully.”

The two stole down the tower stairs with light footsteps, and when they reached the door they opened it just a crack and peered out. The shouting had gotten louder the further they came, and halfway down their gazes met; they knew who argued below. Neither wanted to get caught in whatever mess it was, but they could not turn back now, not when curiosity had brought them so far!

Beside Kanaya’s tower door was the empty picture frame, and before it stood Jane with her hands on her hips. Dirk stood across from her, leaning on the wall with a shadow of his usual composure.

“-Going to work yourself to death at this rate!” Jane exclaimed. “There’s only so much of this situation that we have control over, and you’ll lose it if you’re not careful!”

“That’s exactly why I need to keep going!” Dirk shot back. Jane recoiled, her face souring at his volume. Had he ever yelled at her before? Not that Kanaya could remember – Dirk rarely yelled at all. “I _can’t_ lose control! We need every single advantage we can get if we’re going to get to the other side of this war intact!”

“But is it worth making yourself sick? Is it worth training yourself to pure exhaustion every day?! Running everyone through their paces until they’re black and blue all over is absolute madness! You need to take care of yourself or all this preparation is going to be moot!”

“I’m not letting anyone else’s blood stain my hands!!” The King bellowed.

“And I shalln’t let yours stain mine!!” The Queen thundered. She was close to tears, and by the way Dirk shook, Kanaya suspected that he might be, too.

Rose pulled back from the crack and glanced at Kanaya as the monarchs stared each other down. “I don’t know how wise it is to watch them scream themselves raw,” She whispered, “But at the same time…”

“No, I don’t want to get involved either. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jane so angry.”

Rose pulled her back from the door. “It’s because she worries for him as much as he does for her. They just show that in different ways.” Her grip tightened slightly. “I’ve got quite a good hunch…that it’s something we can expect to see more of in the future.”

“The yelling?” Kanaya asked.

“The concern.”

~*~

The Ides arrived, the sticky humidity signaling another hot day, and Kanaya woke much earlier than she was accustomed. The exact time mattered little, only that the sun had just barely poked the top of its head over the horizon, and she had slept terribly. Dread had mounted in her body for weeks now despite her fervent training, and it gave her no rest. Why bother trying anymore?

She conducted herself through her usual routine as if nothing of importance were happening today, though in reality her mind repeated one simple fact: _Today Could Be My Death Day_. She stole herself from the Prospit trolls’ caravan up to the castle and washed herself thoroughly. She dressed in black despite the weather, in the brocade and high collar of her kingdom’s favor with the loose trousers of her lovers’. A sash of emerald was wound around her middle, the ends tucked in, and she pulled on plain black boots, tying the laces with exacting knots. No heels or lacy spats today, no embroidered and beaded flats, no hats, no jingling trinkets – today was solemn and practical. She had already informed Rose of what should happen should she die. If she were relatively intact, let the blood drain from her body and dress her in the gown she had arrived in. Use ground emeralds for blush, but sparingly, and be precise with the black lipstick. Only then would she be carried off into the unknown on the smoke of her pyre.

Next was breakfast, and by now the sun had fully risen. Normally Kanaya would have taken a fresh spread of liver pâté on grubloaf, just so her taste for blood could be quietly and civilly sated, but today she was to march up with that urge lingering in the pit of her stomach, so she opted for butter instead and took mincing bites. She hadn’t had butter on grubloaf in years, and her nerves seemed to have constricted her insides, making every mouthful a challenge to swallow.

It was only when she finally pushed back her plate, half a slice of grubloaf still lingering in the middle, that Kanaya realized she was alone.

This was not just alone as in without her peers, but _alone_ alone – Kanaya had not seen a soul from the moment she had woken. No one had traipsed into the throne room bemoaning the loss of sleep, no servants had scurried back and forth in the kitchens, and not a sound came from above where the workmen should have been busy building up the castle.

Kanaya rose from the table immediately, and though she had no skirts to gather her hands made to bunch them up out of habit as she hurried out of the castle. Had she truly not seen any of her fellows sleeping in the caravan? They hadn’t properly moved into the towers yet. No, she could not remember seeing any horns or slime-soaked heads peeking out of their recuperacoons. But perhaps she had been too tired to notice? Yes, she would check again, surely everyone was asleep!

When she reached her caravan once more, she found it empty and undisturbed.

When she looked into the caravan of her royals, it too was completely devoid of life.

Kanaya ran to the royal caravan of Derse. Her toothed saber hung at her side now; anything could be happening, and she had to be prepared. She was yards away when the door opened, and relief trickled in through her dread at the sight of Rose in the doorway. The Duchess was quite pale, looking to and fro with lavender eyes far too wide and her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. When she saw Kanaya she gasped, and hurried forward to meet her in a tight embrace.

“Oh God,” Rose groaned, “I thought I was alone!”

“So did I,” Kanaya said, pressing her face into the crook of Rose’s neck. She took deep breaths of her lover’s scent, and instantly her nerves calmed. “Is there really no one else?”

“No one but Aradia and Sollux.” Rose pulled back reluctantly, her mouth a wavering smile. “But they are still as unconscious as they were before. I don’t think they count.”

If Kanaya had it in her to laugh, she would. “Probably not in this instance – but where could everyone have gone? It’s as if they’ve disappeared into thin air! You don’t think it is some trick of the Beforans, do you?”

“If it was a trick, they’d have taken me as well. Or there’s a hitch in the trick that’s left me behind, that could be the case.” Rose pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and set off towards the castle. “Regardless, we cannot jump to conclusions. I assume you checked the other caravans, as I did, so the last possible place they could be is the castle-”

She said more, surely, but at that moment Kanaya’s ears ceased to hear Rose. Something had caught her attention, like threads tied to her fangs that urged her to turn her head. Her throat felt impossibly dry, and the wind turned, carrying with it a peculiar scent from the top of the domed mountain. While Kanaya could not make out anything on its expanse, she knew the scent it bore well. How many times had it lingered on Rose’s skin after strange nights of intimacy and thirst, how long had it assaulted her nostrils as she struggled to control the bubbling urge to drink deep from the font of the heart? It was a smell like burnt rosemary, tangy and sharp, laced with the coppery cloy of blood – the scent of a Rainbow Drinker luring in its prey.

Any dread Kanaya still held for her battle evaporated, and she sprinted forward, grabbing Rose by the wrist and allowing Space to crackle along her skin. This _was_ a Beforan trap, of that she was sure, and her opponent was one of her own kind, a mirror of herself if the trend were to continue. If Rose was not so used to her peculiarities she would have been drawn in like everyone else and drained dry, and how _dare_ anyone even _attempt_ to hurt Rose, hurt her friends, her family even!

Space deposited them onto the mountainside, just out of sight of whoever might have waited at the top, and Rose had become even paler, if that was possible. She opened her mouth to speak when a strange noise assaulted their ears, a sound both of them were acquainted with that bloomed blushes in their cheeks. It was the breathy, mewling moans and clicking purrs of _very_ satisfied humans and trolls, and judging by the other sounds that peppered the air…

Rose brought a hand to her mouth, and her other wriggled in Kanaya’s to grasp it back. “Oh God,” She groaned once more, “I hope no one’s gotten very far. There are some things which I do not want to see.” Kanaya concurred internally, but she led the way regardless, until they had reached the top of the mountain proper.

Before them were two things of…interest. The first was a giant writhing mass of limbs and torsos, all belonging to anyone who had been on the castle grounds – clothed, thankfully – and so entangled that it was impossible to tell who was where, only that every hand and mouth was occupied and that the nobles and royals were surely buried in the throng.

The second was a troll. She turned her head slightly as Kanaya and Rose climbed over the crest of the mountain, and she smiled, the tips of her white fangs peeking through her lips. She was dressed in her evening best, a slit gown so black it seemed cut from the night itself and accessories of all kinds in brilliant emerald green. She had black tattoos that wound around her arms and legs like horrorterror tendrils and hair that hung luxuriously about her shoulders. She was decadently pierced and stood with a grace and confidence that outshined Kanaya’s own, and that more than the toothed saber she also bore scared both troll and human alike.

“Hm,” Said the Beforan – could it be anyone else? – “I seem to have missed one.”

“On the contrary, I doubt I’m missing anything at all,” Rose said, averting her eyes from the sloppy makeout pile.

The Beforan laughed and fingered the hilt of her blade, her pearly eyes gleaming. “Is it really that undesirable to you? I’m giving them a little taste of death before they meet their end. There is a group of humans that call this sort of bliss ‘the little death’, isn’t there? I think it makes me merciful.”

It made her sick in the head, Kanaya thought. She brought a hand to her own hilt. “Stop it. You’ve been sent here to fight _me_ , haven’t you? Leave them out of it!”

A sigh heaved from the Beforan’s lips. “You don’t want to sit and chat for a while?” She asked. “I was hoping we could. It’s not every day you meet your twin, after all.”

“I’ve gotten over the shock pretty quickly,” Kanaya said.

“Don’t you even want to know my name?”

“Say it, then! Not that it matters. I’ve got a good idea who you are.”

Rose stepped back from the pair as the Beforan leveled her saber. “Alright, fine – I should have expected this. I would do the same, were I you. I am Porrim Maryam, and my Benefactor calls me the Countess of Rainbows.” Space crackled down her arm, and the teeth on her saber began to rotate. “Do forgive me if I tear into you too enthusiastically. I’ve abstained from drink for quite some time, and I’m not about to lose a feast so easily.”

Kanaya glanced once more at the pile of ecstasy that had become of the castle’s inhabitants. She couldn’t tell who had paired off with whom, not that it mattered. They would regret whatever had happened when they were roused, and they would be better off if she could shake Porrim’s influence before things became too heavy. She drew her own saber and let Space flow freely into it, the teeth speeding along the length. “And I’m not about to let you feast on innocent people!”

And with that, it began.

The two trolls collided their blades the moment they met, the mobile teeth screeching against each other. First Porrim pushed Kanaya back two steps, then Kanaya pushed Porrim back four – right from the beginning they were evenly matched. Parry met for parry, thrust met for thrust, tooth interlocked with tooth and set their nerves on edge with every scrape. The air hung thick with burnt rosemary and blood as both Drinkers’ bodies flooded with their unnatural strength, and it was all Rose could do to stay on her feet and cover her nose with her blanket.

The Battle of Space was not her fight, and thus Rose had the luxury to think through what had happened as Kanaya and Porrim struggled for dominance. Porrim must have exerted her influence on the occupants of the castle and caravans, luring them from their beds and ‘coons so she could zap them to the mountain and let their addled drives run wild; Rose had only been spared because of her…immunity. After that, Porrim only had to wait until Kanaya realized something was wrong and came to investigate, which could have taken much longer than it did – some of their number might have been drained of blood right now, Rose realized, if Kanaya had not brought them here. It was a trap, plain and simple, and it had been done only with the promise of sating Porrim’s thirst. They all would have come up to face Porrim no matter what, and Rose shivered. How grim! How terrible! It was too much even for her. If there was some thought put into the trap or another motive, maybe it would be interesting, but this was cruelty for the sake of being cruel! Was there nothing these Beforans would not do?

A cry broke Rose from her thoughts, and she jerked to attention. To her dismay, it was Porrim who had taken ground. One of her saber’s teeth had pierced Kanaya’s hand, and emerald dripped into the grass as she dug it further into the wound. With every push backwards Kanaya’s cry became a scream.

In that moment the Benefactor’s insistent rules did not matter to Rose. She threw off her blanket and made to jump into the fray, weaponless and armorless and altogether foolish, but such is the risks love takes. She took that first step –

\- And a new sound overwhelmed the battlefield: a ticking sound.

It was as if one thousand grandfather clocks had flown in from overhead, their innards exposed to reveal their whirring, clicking gears, and their chimes crescendoed above the battlefield as blots of red and black appeared in the air. Then, all at once, the ticking ceased and the blots disappeared in a crackle of Space.

Rose narrowed her eyes where they once hung. What was –

**_BOOM!!!_ **

The thing about gunshots was that they were incredibly loud at close range, and Rose was nearly bowled over by the sound. She rubbed her ears before turning towards the source, and the sight that met her eyes exceeded even her wildest visions. Porrim had dropped her saber and held her arm, emerald blood seeping through her fingers, and she bared her teeth at the shooter. It was Jade, of all people, who still held her rifle up with a finger on the trigger. Dave was there, too – of course he would be there, if she had returned! – holding the Beforan in place. Both of them looked weary and a bit gaunter than before. Jade’s hair had grown wilder, and Dave had neglected to shave his face in a good while.

“ _Jegus_ , Harley, shoot to kill why don’t you,” Dave deadpanned, tightening his grip as Porrim struggled in his grasp. “It’s not like we’re here to save the day or anything.”

“Sorry!” Jade chirped, and she cocked her rifle. “I didn’t want to hit you on accident!”

Rose might as well have sprouted roots, she stood so still. So much overwhelmed her – joy and curiosity, fear and relief. It proved too much for her to utter a single word.

Porrim snarled and thrashed, her skin glowing vibrantly. Kanaya tensed. As good as it was that she was no longer alone in this fight, she had to end it quickly. Who knew how fast Porrim could drag these reinforcements under her spell?

The crackle of Space became a deafening roar, and with speed and precision unparalleled, Porrim was cut and quartered, her head severed, and she fell to bloody pieces at Dave’s feet. He backed off immediately.

“Oh, _gross_ , it’s all over my cape. Just what I needed, dead presents. No wonder Rose likes you, you’re just like a cat-”

But whatever Dave had to say was cut off as Rose hurried forward, pulling her cousin into a vice grip of a hug. He squeaked in surprise and his arms flailed.

Jade hugged her rifle to her chest and sidled up to Kanaya. “So I’m guessing we missed out on a lot,” She said sheepishly. The troll grinned despite herself.

“It’s fine. Thank you for coming back.”

~*~

The effects of Rainbow Drinker pheromones are a curious thing. They take time to wear off, and it is no small feat for four people to pry apart dozens of the addled as they languidly shook off the vestiges of drug-like lust. It took time to set everyone right once more, straightening rumpled clothes, examining cross-species hickeys in case they needed bandaging, things like that. All this, and the reappearance of the long lost Duchess and Prince, occupied their minds and made room for nothing else.

No one realized two of their number were missing until it was too late, and by then they judged it a coincidence. Jane and Dirk were extremely strong-willed. Perhaps they had ridden out Porrim’s pheromone assault on their own. No one doubted they would turn up later…

…Just as no one had seen the empty portrait frame in the grass corridor swing open to admit a pair into its yawning darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See that cliffhanger right there? I've been waiting to start this story thread since before I was finished with ORF, and now the time has finally arrived! Shit's gonna get really real from here on out, realer than real!


	11. Riddle

_One could say all they liked of the efficiency of bureaucracy, especially when it came to the gargantuan task of paying one’s due to the genetic slurry. One could hem and haw for hours on its necessity, the benefit it had on the troll population’s numbers, the fear that lifted from the everyday citizen’s shoulders, who now lived without the looming threat of death if one had a missing space in their quadrants. No matter what was said, Terezi Pyrope would reply without a grin: “Yes, but its tedium outweighs any and all benefits. Case dismissed, bring in the dancing sea-clawbeasts.”_

_She would have welcomed any dancing creature to appear in the caverns, any distraction from the unfortunate side-effect of waiting, but all she had to settle for was the company of her own kind. Because her indicated quadrantmates straddled the hemospectrum, she had been placed in a cavern with others whose wait times evened out similarly, and to her mild surprise, a fair amount of them were tealbloods. Some she was acquainted with through various excursions in Prospit’s court block, though she had never had the pleasure to be opposite them. His Honorable Tyranny tended to devour legislacerators who failed to win their case, whether they be for prosecution or defense, so it was more observation on her part. They all knew who_ she _was, of course, and vied frantically for her time. To chat with the Supreme Magistrate of Prospit on equal terms! What an opportunity to learn the law from she who laughed in the face of death simply because she could not see it!_

_Did she want to linger in their company? Of course not! But she did so anyway. Why?_

_It could be interpreted as a kindness._

_Terezi sat, quiet and rigid, as trolls of every shade of teal jostled each other and told jokes. They were not normal jokes, though – legislacerator jokes were the highest caliber of riddles devised by troll minds. They were used to test the breadth and speed of wit, and laughter came from watching others struggle to strike upon the right answer. While others favored long stories similar to courtroom interrogations, relying on the listener to regurgitate the tiniest detail at the end, the Supreme Magistrate of Prospit loved riddles that were deceptively simple. It did not matter to her whether or not one had to think inside or outside the proverbial box, only that her opponent was able to reach the correct answer._

_In this instance of the company of her peers, she was tempted to floor them with her collection of impossible riddles, all neatly aligned in her memory, but that would defeat the purpose of a kindness. Instead, she tossed them simpler things, scraps as it were, and though they were loathe to take such pittances, the trolls lapped them up accordingly._

_“Tell me,” Terezi would say, “What can pierce a wall, but is not a nail?”_

_“Sound!” One troll would shout, and the others mimicked them with fervor._

_“Then what grows longer the shorter it becomes?” She would combat._

_“Life!”_

_Terezi cackled. It was as if she had been surrounded by dozens of yappy, excitable barkbeasts, all eager to please her – but she knew not to underestimate them. They were sharks of logic, and though she was the leader of the pack, it took only one moment to dethrone an alpha._

_Through the cacophony of answers came a small, gurgling cough. One of the nearby trolls looked at Terezi pointedly; she was rather short to be part of their hatchgroup, perhaps a runt taken in by a merciful lusus. “May I tell you a riddle, Your Honor?” She asked. “I’ve heard this one is the most difficult to crack.”_

_Terezi nodded, the troll’s words sparking her interest. “Be my guest, little neophyte.”_

_With permission granted, the small troll took a deep breath and recited her riddle:_

_“Before the land there was the sea_

_Tumultuous in reverie,_

_Before purple and gold banners flew_

_Tyrian was the royal hue,_

_Before the angels did descend_

_True demons ruled throughout the land,_

_Before you there lived a ‘we’_

_To whom humans fell on bended knee._

_We are the beginning and the end. Name us!”_

_Though said quietly, the couplets seem to ring in the cavern and resonate in every troll. It certainly sent a shiver through Terezi. No answer washed up on the shores of her memory, but she closed her eyes and focused on the words, letting them tug her as they pleased._

_“…If one were to interpret the lines as clues,” She began, “It would be more beneficial to consult historical text. However, that last line could be a hint to a literal interpretation, to combine the first and last of something in the entire riddle and glean the answer from there.”_

_The first and last – but of what? Words? Lines? Images? Rhymes? The possibilities branched off into endless outcomes, and Terezi shook her mind to clear it. This was not a riddle that could be solved off the cuff._

_“I’ll get back to you on this one,” She said, and the little troll smiled wryly. Never did Terezi guess she would find her later, locked in the dungeons of the castle, clinging to her black armor as if it were her salvation. Only then did Terezi realize that she had almost fallen prey to an indoctrination riddle – one that would have launched her into the company of the rebels of Beforus._

~*~

It had taken a long time for Jane to fall asleep the night before the Battle of Space, and when she opened her eyes she assumed it was to her dark caravan once more, another break of wakefulness as suspense racked her mind. After all, the caravan was the last thing she remembered. What could have changed in so little time?

And then she realized how hard her bed had become, how there was no blanket to shield her from the unnatural clamminess of the air. In fact, nothing separated her from the cold – from head to toe, she was completely nude!

Though the darkness cloaked all, Jane shot up and wrapped her arms around her chest on instinct, her eyes widening as they searched in vain for any inkling of light. Her very breath seemed to echo, and she felt extraordinarily small. Jane shifted to stand, and a terrible ache racked her body, pounding with every beat of her heart. She groaned and curled forward, and Life sparked at her pains to soothe them away. She felt dizzy as the power flooded her system, and images flickered in her mind’s eye, of stone slabs and bodies and blood-

It was then that she knew where she was, and Jane pressed her palms to her eyes and screamed. Whatever had happened, she had been brought to that dreadful chamber that lurked deep in the domed mountain and tugged at Life’s fire: the Royal Forge.

No – no, she shouldn’t be here, no one should be here! They had sealed this place away before the castle was even built, how could she be here? Had something happened in the Battle of Space that she could not remember? Had the Beforan General banished her here to rot? All she could remember before now was her caravan, and she screamed again, but she knew it would be in vain. No one would hear her. No one would think to look for her in this terrible place, she would never hear anyone say her name again-

“…Jane?”

The word echoed in the Forge, and it echoed in her heart. Jane stilled.

“Dirk?”

Something shifted beside her, and hands patted the ground as they groped in the darkness. “Jane, is that you? What’s wrong?”

The voice was coming to her right. Jane reached out her hand, and it met another, their fingers entwining instantly. “It’s me – Dirk, is it really you?”

“It’s me…” Relief buoyed in Jane as Dirk drew her close, holding her tight to his chest. She shivered as skin rubbed skin. Where were _his_ clothes? “What’s going on? Why’re you screaming?”

Oh, strangeness be damned! Jane threw her arms around Dirk and hugged him tight. His hands came to rest on her back out of habit. “I don’t know! We’re in that dreadful place, Dirk – the Forge! The one we sealed up! I can feel it all around me, it makes me sick…” Tears pricked at her eyes. “What are we going to do?”

There was a pause. Jane could feel Dirk’s fingers twitch.

“We’re going to get out of here,” He said slowly.

“ _How?!_ ”

“The same way we must’ve come in.”

Great! Not even five minutes into their death and Dirk had lost his mind. She clung to him tighter despite it, though. If he had to go mad, let it not be alone. “I’m sorry,” Jane said, her voice choked with tears, “but in case you’ve forgotten, we can’t all come and go by…physics manipulation…neither of us can do that…”

“We won’t need to. We just need to follow the light.”

He pulled away from Jane, and for one frightening moment she might as well have been alone. His hands then found her again, pulling her up to stand. Her legs wobbled from the effort, and from the way Dirk hissed as he breathed, he was hurting, too. Still, he turned Jane around until she spotted it, a yawning beginning of a tunnel outlined in light. It was not exceptionally bright light, but to her it might as well have been the sun, for she had to shield her eyes until they became accustomed to it.

“Gotta hand it to Rose,” Dirk said, bending down and groping at their feet, “She gives excellent gifts. Never in my wildest dreams did I think glowing moss would ever come in handy, and I can have some pretty wild dreams.”

Is that what it was? Jane felt her brow draw together. “Is that light really your doing, Dirk?” She asked. Her nightshift was pushed into her hands.

“Not completely. Like I said, it was a present from Rose. I just applied it where it was most beneficial.” There was a rustling, as if Dirk had found his pajamas and was feeling his way into them. “C’mon, get dressed. You’re shivering.”

Reluctantly, Jane heeded Dirk’s words. Perhaps it was the Forge itself, how it made Life toss and turn inside of her like a sailboat in choppy seas, that tinged her fear with curiosity. There was too much about this that was suspect, and Dirk’s glowing moss only added to it. What was it he knew that she did not, that kept him so calm?

He’d best be in a sharing mood, Jane thought, wriggling into her shift.

“Obviously she foresaw you might need something of that nature. The moss, I mean. Maybe not what it would be for, but that you would need it?”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that at all. Are you dressed?”

“I can’t find my glasses.”

“Neither can I. We won’t need them if we can’t even see our own noses, and we can get new ones if they’re really down here. It’s not worth it to hunt for them, this place is huge.”

So he knew the breadth of the chamber, or could at least infer it by their echoes. Interesting.

“I suppose that’s true.”

An arm linked with hers. “Shall we?”

“By all means, lead the way.”

And so he did. Dirk guided Jane into the glowing maw, the path beginning its gradual incline. The walls were covered in spots of the white moss, which enabled her to see her fiancé. She had almost thought him a convincing hallucination, but he was there, eyes squinting into what lay ahead. Peeking over the edge of his nightshirt was a dark blot on his neck, and she examined it curiously. Dirk didn’t have birthmarks on his neck – he’d changed unabashedly in her presence before, often after they had sparred, and she knew his body well enough to know that this was new. She brought a hand towards it.

“What’s this?”

“What’s – _ow!_ ” He jerked from her touch and clamped his free hand on his neck. The blot had been warm and tender, a bit like a bruise, and Jane thought she felt slight indentations, almost teethlike. It made her blood run cold.

“Sorry! There’s a mark on your neck, I didn’t mean to-”

Dirk hissed as he rubbed the blot, his neck tensing in pain. “Ah – fuck, no, it’s fine, it’s…it hurts like a _bitch_ , fuck…” He lifted his hand away with the utmost caution. “I really hope some whacked-out insect didn’t feast on me while we were down here. Can you tell if that area’s some funny color, or is to too dim for that?”

Jane shook her head slowly. “No, it’s too dim…I’m not sure it’s an insect bite, though.”

“Well, we’ll see it when we get out of here.” He shook his head to dislodge the pain and continued on. “It’s still a while.”

So he had an approximate idea of how long this tunnel went for, too! Jane’s head swirled with unfavorable things. “How can you be so sure of that?” She asked. “I’m the only one of us who ever came through this place. It’s a bit of a hike going up, if I remember correctly.” He hummed expectantly. “Even so, I could never guess how long we’d have yet to go. I was with Roxy the last time, so it’s likely she used the Void to shorten the trip.”

“Yeah, but I assume you were bugging out a bit, like you are now.” Dirk quickened their pace, and Jane felt herself puff up in indignation. “There’s no way you could have an accurate sense of your surroundings when you’re like that.”

“And you can? From walking through your first time?”

“From walking through here before.”

His words almost brought Jane to a standstill. When had he ever come through this way before? The deepest he had ever gone into the Royal Forge was the mouth of the cave they had slept in, when Dirk had sleepily bared his heart and she had refused it out of guilt.

“This place is off limits,” She heard herself say, “We all decided it was unsafe to leave it open for anyone to come in. We had the tunnels blocked up before a single stone was laid for the castle!”

“We also built the castle flush against one of those tunnel entrances, Jane.”

Had the temperature dropped the further they advanced? Was that possible? Why else would Jane feel her body shake to its very core, teetering on the edge of something she wanted so desperately not to grasp. “You – came down this way,” She ventured, “Before construction?”

Dirk nodded. “And after.”

“ _Really_.”

He stopped short. “Hey, look, I’m getting the distinct impression that you’re not down for a guessing game right now. Do you want me to just spit it out? Give you the relief of blurting out your big deduction? That’s fine by me. I’d always planned to tell you, Jane, I might as well do it now.”

A moment passed where the two stared each other in the eye, Dirk with calm indifference and Jane with cold fire. Her nostrils flared with every breath.

“Go on, then. Tell me.”

 “…I had a door installed,” Dirk said, “Right into this tunnel, the one with the glowing moss. We slept at the mouth of it before, right? I remembered it when I came with the first wave of workmen to start prepping the area. The orders we had were to just wall up the entrances and pretend they never existed, but I thought…it might be a better idea to put them to use.”

The hair on the back of Jane’s neck prickled. Dirk tugged her along gently, resuming their trek.

“We’ve banned ourselves from using this place for what it used to be, but I gave this a lot of thought. What if we’re invaded someday and have to evacuate the castle? There’s going to be a lot of people in here at all times. Not just us, but any servants and guards who are in the area. If there’s a situation, we need someplace that’s well hidden and big enough for everyone to bunker down in for a while.” He reached out and tapped the tunnel wall, his fingertips brushing the glowing moss. “That’s why I put this up. To light our way, and to give us a way back, just in case. I figured we wouldn’t need it for years, decades, maybe even generations. By then the moss would have spread to every inch of this tunnel, maybe even into the Forge itself-”

“Stop.”

Dirk halted, and she could feel his eyes on her, wide, questioning. Her words felt like barbs on her tongue, pricking her own mouth even as she steadied herself to speak.

“The _nerve_ of you,” Jane began, “The…the unmitigated _gall_! What in the world gave you the idea that this was something _good_ to do?!” She pulled herself away from him, glaring with all of her strength. Her legs wobbled like gelatin. “You’re talking as if someone won’t try to use this place for what it was made for – if apparent Gods from the heavens couldn’t resist bringing the dead back to life, how could _any_ human or troll?!?”

“Jane, nobody has to know what this place can do-”

She threw her hands up. “What do you mean?! Everyone knows now!! We’ve made the Cherubic injustices against us public knowledge, you…you **_dunderhead_**!!!”

Dirk pressed his mouth into a thin line. “You know,” He said, “I take offense to that.”

That was the final straw. With a strangled scream of frustration, Jane turned heel and ran down the corridor. It did not matter how badly her legs hurt or how many times she stumbled, only that she put as much distance between herself and the belly of the Forge as possible – and Dirk, too. Why, if he liked this place so much, he could live here if he wanted! Goodness knows Heart did not send _him_ into panic attacks whenever he so much as thought of the place.

She did not stop, not even when a crack of real light appeared at the end of the tunnel, up at the top of the inclining path. Jane half ran, half crawled to it, and she barreled into the door with her shoulder, tumbling onto the ground. Immediately the air was hot and thick, a jarring contrast from the cold cavern, and Jane blinked blearily in the light as her sight cleared. After a moment, she realized there was grass beneath her, and glass above that magnified the light of the sun. She could be nowhere but in the grass corridor. With difficulty she spun around, and her mouth fell open. Where once there had been Dirk’s mysterious empty picture frame a door had appeared, hinges and all. It was made of stone, just like the walls, and when closed it seemed that it would fit seamlessly into place, as if there had never been a door at all. A series of pulleys and levers served to keep it in place, triggered by a switch on the side.

So that was why he had taken such interest in his silly frame! That was one mystery solved, but Jane felt hollow at the revelation. She gripped the edge of the doorway with trembling fingers and took a deep breath.

“YOU’D BETTER HAVE THIS SEALED IMMEDIATELLY!!!” Jane shouted, and with that she ran off. Dirk could close the blasted thing on his own, surely he knew how! It was his idea after all! He’d created it, and he could un-create it, and the sooner he did so the better everyone would be!!

Jane ran and ran, teeth grit through the pain in her lower half, and she did not stop until she had climbed into the loft of her caravan. There she collapsed onto the blankets, her breath coming in hard gasps. The anger in her was too strong for a tantrum, too sharp for a cry. All she could do was let it fizzle through her until naught but ashes remained. It was a wildfire in her body, and it would destroy anything in its path, any idea that she was in the wrong. How could she be? The Forge was dangerous! No one should hold the power of the Cherubim, that was something Prospit and Derse had agreed on whole-heartedly, and to leave that possibility open was the stuff of nightmares!

Whether she slept or not Jane could not tell, for she lay still and alone in the caravan for a long time. Never did she open her eyes and feel refreshed. Rain drummed on the caravan roof; a summer storm had blown in, whisking away the sticky heat for a brief reprieve, and it was the only good thing she could see of the day. Did the Battle of Space happen? Was Kanaya alive? It mattered, yes, but not then.

It had grown dark by the time there was any other sound but the rain. There were voices – not many, but all were loud and jubilant enough to sound like a crowd, and they were coming closer. The caravan door open, and Jane lifted her head to see who had come.

The sight that greeted her was nothing short of miraculous. Looking up from the doorway was Jade, her hair so long and so wild, her clothes battered, her rifle strapped to her back like an old friend. She gave Jane a tired smile, but in it there seemed to be all the strength of Prospit’s golden sunset.

“Hi,” Jade said.

Jane’s hand scrambled for her glasses, and relief swept away her frustration to find them within her reach. She jammed them onto her face and hurried down the loft as quick as her feet allowed, and in seconds her cousin was wrapped in a tight, warm embrace.

“ _Hi_!” Jane gasped, “ _Hi_ , of all things – _that’s_ what you say after disappearing for so long?!” They were angry words, but Jane was not angry, not anymore, and Jade could sense that in her grip, for she laughed and hugged her Queen back just a fiercely. Other pairs of arms joined them, too, and Jane knew them to be from John and Jake. She was surrounded by her family once more, and she didn’t care how or why, only that they were together again.

~*~

The novelty of Jade and Dave’s return did not wear off, not even after they had told the tale of their adventures again and again. Fresh from the events of their past, they seemed reborn, shaking Cherubic dust from their boots and reveling in the freedom of their future – but they were the only ones who seemed eager to face another month until the Ides.

The weeks before the Battle of Mind were slow, as if every minute of every day had come down with an illness and marched on sluggishly, desperate to rest and recover yet denied that basic right. With the fighting condensed to the practitioners of each Art, there was very little the others could do to prepare, and a sort of cabin fever settled on the Royalty, causing them to flit from activity to activity in the hopes that it would cure their malaise of boredom.

The most common activity of all was enjoying the change in seasons. Summer, it seemed, had finally been trounced, and autumn crept ever closer, sending a chill through the evenings and nights. From the trolls’ towers one could look out onto the Scratchlands and see the first tinges of color to the leaves, and anticipation bubbled in everyone to see them bloom into a vast array of reds and oranges, yellows and browns, as one last hurrah before the branches stretched into the sky, barren and skeletal.

There was someone, however, who spent their time in a more productive manner: the King of Derse, who preferred to plumbed the mysteries of his mind. It buzzed relentlessly, turning over the Battles and events so far in an attempt to glean anything from them, but he could not focus. No matter the topic, his thoughts wandered back to when he had woken up with Jane in the Forge and plagued him relentlessly. The dark blots on his neck and shoulders haunted him with every little movement, sparking with pain and his betrothed’s honeyed concern.

The idea that his body had acted of its own accord made Dirk’s blood run cold. Someone had manipulated _him_ into doing something, and he had no idea why or _what_ had been done in that blank spot in his memory. It was a chasm of the unknown, and it offended him to the point of fright. Who could blame him for leaving for the caravan of the Prospit trolls that morning, entering without a knock, and making his way to the recuperacoon of a Seer whose expertise lay in Mind?

It only took a moment for Terezi’s eyes to open, red and bleary over the rim of her slime. Although she could not see, surely she had heard Dirk coming – or smelled him, for her nostrils flared at his presence.

“For a King,” She said thickly, “I expected you to have some common decency. Can’t a blind girl get some sleep around here?”

Dirk nudged her ‘coon. “You’ve had all night to sleep. It’s day now. I need you to do something for me.”

Terezi yawned and rolled her neck, sighing as it cracked. “First of all, you do not hold authority over me as of yet. You are only the King of Derse, and not of Prospit. Secondly, trollkind is typically nocturnal, and perhaps I have been getting in touch with my peoples’ past. What do you think of that, hmmmm?”

There was a pause as Dirk glanced around the caravan. None of the other trolls had stirred. The piles of books that had once surrounded Karkat’s ‘coon seemed to have migrated to Terezi’s and multiplied like rabbits, most left open at random, others bookmarked with thinner books. He quirked an eyebrow. “I think that’s a load of rank-ass baloney is what. You’ve been prepping for battle by filling your head with jargon all night, haven’t you?”

The troll gave a half-hearted cackle and began to pull herself from her slime, sloughing it off when she perched herself on the edge of her ‘coon. “Very perceptive! How did you know I would do so with facts, and not a blade?”

“It’s not like we don’t have legislacerators in Derse. Or trials. Where, you know, I’ve gotta be present, at least for the high profile ones. I’ve picked up on your weird caste mental duels. Forgive the saying, but I’d have to be blind not to.”

“Well, thank you for noticing them!” Terezi grinned, though she was far too tired to do so with her usual edge. “And your slight is forgiven! This disturbance, however, still greatly offends my sensibilities. I would like to be well-rested at all times in order to be best prepared to face my opponent. It’d be a safe bet to assume they will be strikingly similar to myself, wouldn’t you say?”

He most certainly would, which was why Dirk did not mind Terezi taking her training into her own hands. Seers were capable sorts and could handle themselves, he’d experienced that growing up with Rose. When Terezi finally pushed off from her ‘coon he turned away, allowing her privacy while she changed into something less sodden. The rustle of clothes filled the caravan.

“I’ve also got that prophecy to decipher,” She continued, “Rose and I have nearly cracked it. But that’s not what you’re here about either, is it?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then why not spit it out? If I was more awake my patience would have worn thin long before this.”

“…I need you to jog my memory.”

The rustling stopped. Terezi looked at Dirk over her shoulder, or to where she thought he was; her red gaze was a few feet off. “Come again?”

“I’m having trouble remembering something from the Battle of Space. I thought you might be able to reach into my head and pull something out.”

Terezi’s nose crinkled. “Why would you want to remember any of _that_ rumpus ridiculousness? Isn’t regaining consciousness half-naked in a pile of writhing limbs and Kanaya smacking your face enough to give someone like you an idea of what happened?”

“…Nothing you just said made an iota of sense.”

“What do you mean? You were there, weren’t you? On top of the mountain?”

“I woke up _in_ the mountain. With Jane.” The admission to their presence in the Forge was a slip of the tongue, but Dirk did not try to cover it up. Why had no one told him of what had happened to the others? And why did it sound so troubling? “Neither of us had a clue what was going on.”

The troll’s mouth had formed a perfect ‘o’ shape, and she quickly tugged on her clothes. Dirk’s confusion seemed to have sparked some energy in her. “So you don’t know-”

“No, I don’t. But I’d really fucking like to.”

“But are you sure you weren’t with us-”

“I _wasn’t_.” Dirk’s hands twitched and tensed. “I need you to lay it down now, Pyrope, and then if you could dig into my brain for what seems to be missing I’d really appreciate it.”

So she did, briefly and concisely, as she laced up her boots and led Dirk out of the caravan. She told him of Porrim Maryam, how she had played a pied piper to everyone in the vicinity, pulling the strings of their desires and letting them loose on each other.

“I have no idea who it was I made out with in that pile, but I was sticky for three days afterwards. Bluuh! It was a most disgusting affair. Were you really not part of it?”

They had entered the castle now, Terezi in the lead, and she had made for the door to the grass corridor. Dirk had followed her with increasing concern. “Hey, if I said I wasn’t part of it, I wasn’t. Okay? Like I would want to join into some fucked up, drugged-out orgy, whether or not it was of my own accord.”

“Get over yourself, Your Majesty! It did not go that far.” They passed the empty picture frame and entered Terezi’s tower, the both of them taking the stairs two at a time. “But you were _in_ side the mountain instead of on top of it? I suppose you could have been transported there…” She stopped at the top of the tower, turning back to Dirk. “As for how you got out…”

A lump formed in Dirk’s throat, and Jane’s anger rang in his ears. “That’s none of your business. I just want you to help me find out what I don’t remember.”

Terezi tsked. “Oh, fine! Step into my office, we’ll get started.”

Despite her sleeping quarters remaining in the caravan, Terezi’s tower was already well furnished – if by ‘furnished’ one meant ‘catastrophically cluttered’. It was one of the few ways her loved ones knew she was still the same after the incident that had taken her sight, for no one could part a Pyrope with their hoard of seemingly useless junk, inside of which was imbedded only the most unusual of treasures that only a Pyrope could find. Already tables from Prospit were piled high with books and potion-making instruments, scented candles and plush dragons. There was a bed, purely for the use of her clients, and next to it was the least cluttered area of all, a nightstand with a slim mahogany box and dragon figurine, its mouth sporting a spout. This was where she ushered Dirk, and he lay in the bed stiffly as she flitted about, lighting a stick of incense and fitting it into the dragon’s mouth.

“We need points of focus,” Terezi explained, “Things that will remind you of that cave place! And we also need to clear your head to allow the memories to resurface clearly. Tell me, what did you see there? What did you smell? Taste? Touch?”

The young King resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I saw nothing. It was dark.”

She cackled, and there was a scrape as she pulled the curtains of her windows closed. “Then we’re already halfway there! Because for me, everywhere is dark!”

“Yeah, because you’re blind. I know.”

Terezi gave a sharp gasp and swatted Dirk’s shoulder. “You can’t use that word!” She exclaimed. “That’s _our_ word!”

“The word of the _blind_?” Another swat. “I can have you court marshaled for assaulting royalty, you know.”

“And I can be my own defense attorney and crush your prosecution, as well as deny you what you want! Now relay to me the sensory details of this under-mountain cave or I shall resort to unabashed nub drubbings!”

Well…it was either comply, or start up a court case. Dirk was not in any kind of mood for paperwork. He rattled off every sensation he could think of that had assaulted him; the cold, the damp, the soft glow of moss, the brilliant heat that had radiated off of Jane when they embraced. Eventually he closed his eyes, the smell of Terezi’s incense lulling him into a calm he had not felt in a very long time. It was very nice, this scent. Citrusy. Sweet. There was the slightest hint of salt to it, too, and he could almost hear the rustle of tall grass, the crash of waves in the sea. For one perfect moment, it did not matter to Dirk what Terezi chose to place as focus points, or how the process even worked. So long as he could rest in this state of limbo, he would be happy.

And then his mind’s eye plunged down into the abyss, wracking him with shivers that sped like currents through his nerves. They were chills, or the imprint of chills, present when the cold Forge pressed against his burning body. The darkness swallowed everything there was to see, but that did not cloak the pleasure and pain that mingled within, or the echo of familiar voices as they mingled into something very strange, at least to him, breathy and deep and desperate for release.

Dirk was vaguely aware of a disgusted hum on the fringes of his consciousness, wholly separate from whatever it was that flashed before him. “Oh, great. I _really_ did not need to see this.”

~*~

The Battle of Mind came on a brisk, brilliant day, but for weeks now Jane had felt unbearably warm. While trolls of cooler hues bundled themselves in thicker clothes, while Jade wound a shawl around her head and shoulders and John and Jake shook the dust from their long coats, she could not be comfortable. Every night Jane kicked off her blankets in her sleep and still woke up drenched in sweat; her body shivered with chills at each passing breeze as her insides broiled like a furnace.

At first she was quite concerned. Had she caught some awful disease in the Forge? Was this a fever? Should she see the doctor, who even now sat vigil between Aradia and Sollux, desperate for their recovery?

It was only that morning, before the time came to march into battle, that she realized where the heat came from. It was early, and no one else had yet risen to prepare themselves for whatever was to come, so Jane had stolen away to the castle for a bath of cold, cold water. Could she be blamed? Her nightgown clung to her like a second skin, and it was a relief to peel it off, a godsend to let the frigid water envelop her.

As she closed her eyes to soak, a peculiar calm washed over Jane. In that moment she was more aware of her body than ever before, how the surface of the water puckered where it met her skin, how the curls of her hair floated gently with every little rippling wave she produced. The strangest of it all, of course, was the warmth, how it receded from the extremities of her body the longer she lay immersed, until it seemed to pool in her stomach, sparking merrily like a cheerful fire. She frowned, and let her hands rest atop it. The only warmth that flickered like that was the kind issued from Life.

Jane knew this, and yet felt foolish for only realizing what it was now - but why was it happening? Had she hurt her stomach somehow, and Life had taken to healing her on instinct? If so, why had the warmth lingered for so long? It would have been an entire month by now, and she usually healed up in an instant. Perhaps a visit to the doctor would be prudent…but would he bother to hear her out? The Arts and their peculiarities, especially something like Life, were not easy to factor into prognosis. She wrestled with the notion until her hands pruned, and as she pulled herself out of the water, Jane made her decision. She would wait for a while and see if the heat faded on its own. If it did not, then she would bring it up to someone. The problem would probably fix itself. It wouldn’t help to worry.

Still, heat or no heat, everyone had to march up the domed mountain once more. Without the thrum of thousands of troops it was much quieter, if only because there were fewer feet pounding the ground. It was strange to go without their usual numbers, as if they went to meet the Beforans naked, and everyone had a tense twist to their movements.

The top of the mountain was reached in due time, and Terezi stood at the forefront, shoulders squared, feet apart, and the sword in her cane unsheathed. A small group of what troops they had left scurried past her, crouching down to peer over the other side of the mountain.

“Is the enemy in sight?” Dirk asked them, hands cupped around his mouth. One of the soldiers turned and shook their head.

“All clear, sir!”

Dirk’s hand’s dropped. “Well that’s weird,” He muttered, “They should have been marching their asses off to get here. It’s not like they can rely on Space anymore-”

The words had barely left his lips – and appeared in Jane’s thoughts, though she would be loathe to admit it – when a familiar crackle rang through the air. There was an immediate ripple in the troops and nobles, of bodies tensing and eyes squinted in disbelief, and the small group of soldiers retreated to the ranks, all sharing nervous glances. How in the world could the Beforans still have the Art of Space on their side?

Their enemy soon revealed themselves over the crest of the peak. Adorned in mail and tunic, with teal metal emblazoned with red for arm and shin guards, she came with only a thin sword at her side. She wore no helmet, her long black hair fanning out behind her in the wind, and she wore square spectacles with red lenses. Judging by how her milky eyes darted to and fro behind them, it would be safe to say that she could see. Terezi wrinkled her nose as she approached.

“ _Blugh_ – cherries on a hot tin roof,” She muttered to herself, “Hope _I_ don’t smell like that.”

The Beforan knight stopped in her tracks, and sniffed the air herself. “Hey, don’t be down on me like that, dudette,” She called out, “You don’t smell like anything! Probably because I can’t smell and junk.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

She shrugged, and her smile was nothing short of sincere. “’S alright. You look a hot mess though! How long did it take you to get so radically ready?”

Terezi feigned examining her fingernails. “No time at all. I can’t see, so I don’t bother.”

“Oh, really? Sorry about that, my bad!”

While their exchange sounded far too much like innocent insult slinging to other ears, to Terezi and the Beforan Pyrope, their duel had already begun. Their words were at a stance of honorable compromise; they revealed their shortcomings to each other, and their nonchalance in response indicated that their disabilities would not hold them back.

The Beforan brought a hand to her hilt. “’S much as I’d like to gab with you, I kinda have a job to do, you know?”

“As do I.” Terezi unsheathed her blade noiselessly. “I hope you won’t mind if I’m a bit brutal. Your lot is technically responsible for the deaths of some of my friends!”

“What a coincidence – so is yours!”

The Beforan laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. A shiver ran down Terezi’s spine.

“I’m Latula Pyrope, Sir Radglare herself – and I’ve got one helluva bone to pick with you!”

Quick as a flash Latula bounded forward, and Terezi rushed to meet her, their swords clattering overhead. Their moves were nothing short of impressive, blades flurrying and footwork precise. To all that watched, enraptured, the two seemed a perfect match.

Then, the riddles came.

“ _What has roots that no one sees?_ ” Terezi asked, pushing forward, “ _What’s taller than the trees? Up and up it goes, but never grows?_ ”

For a moment all Latula did was hold her ground, gritting her teeth against Terezi’s strength. Then, with a triumphant grunt, she pushed the Seer back. “A mountain!” She exclaimed. “Like, we’re standin’ on one, dude! Too easy!”

There was a scuffle as Terezi tottered back, blade still extended. “Don’t take it as an insult to your mental capabilities! I’m merely testing the waters!”

“Then what about this?” Latula advanced in a flash, her strikes pushing Terezi back. “ _Alive without breath and cold as death, never thirsty, ever drinkin’, all in mail but never clinkin’?_ ”

“A fish!” Terezi said. She knocked Latula’s sword aside when she said it, and the Beforan dove under her thrust to retrieve it. Terezi followed. “Honestly! Piggybacking on your opponent’s turns of phrase is greatly frowned upon these days! I could figure out something that easy without relying on my own context, thank you very much!” She was upon Latula now, and swung down, but the other troll’s blade was back in hand, and had come up to meet it.

“Is that so? ‘Cause back when I ran the show, that was some high grade riddletude right there!”

And so the battle continued on. With every parry came a quip, with every riddle came an advance and with each answer a push for one side’s victory. Out of all the battles on the domed mountain this was the most visible and the most enthralling so far, a feast for the eyes and for the intellect. The nobles and remaining troops became spectators, and their strength was sapped by tense anticipation, every eye watching for where bade arcs ended and every ear full of tricksy, teasing rhymes.

In contrast, the duelists themselves seemed to show little fatigue, reacting at a moment’s notice to every change in movement and rarely letting their answers remain unspoken for long. Such was the legislacerator way, to think and fight at double time and to never falter until both opponents were brought to a full stop. Their repertoires of riddles were large and inexhaustible, so long as their bodies held up.

As the sun inched to the center of the sky, Terezi and Latula’s blades screamed as they scraped together, the trolls pushing against each other at their hilts. Terezi’s sightless glare could melt skin, but Latula’s smile held up regardless.

“Hey,” The Beforan said, “I’ve got kind of a special riddle for you. One that you’ll never, ever be able to crack until it’s way too late, you feel me?”

“No,” Terezi said, stressing her obstinance. “I’m sure I could figure it out just as quickly as your other riddles. Really, you must want to make me angry to be so flagrant in your disrespect!”

Latula laughed, snorting slightly. “Nah, nah, I just want to share this with you! Special orders from the boss-man to dispense with this one. He’s feeling rad pride lately, and wanted to flaunt it!”

“Well, spit it out!” The trolls pushed away from each other, blades leveling once more. “None of us want your Benefactor to send a messenger to be smug at us for stupid, make-believe reasons! Might as well get it over with as quickly as possible.”

Latula shrugged and cleared her throat. “Suit yourself!”

What she said next, she said loud enough for all present on the domed mountain to hear. It was more poem than riddle, but it sent chills up Jane’s spine all the same, and the heat in her body flared.

“ _A brand new era comes to call,_ ” Latula began,

“ _For in my wake the showers fall_

_They wash away the mark of red_

_And sprout the things in earth embed’_

_Fathers pace and Mothers cry_

_In my wake the rabbits die_

_What am I?_ ”

Silence echoed as the riddle hung in the air, and both Pyropes were motionless. In that moment, Terezi was thankful for small coincidences – that her back was to her peers, for instance. Why?

 Because her face had gone as blank as her mind at that riddle.

Eras, showers, red, sprouts, rabbits…what did any of them have in common? Nothing, her mind said, but the answer couldn’t be ‘nothing’! Terezi knew every ‘nothing’ riddle in the kingdoms! This was probably something the Benefactor had pulled out of his self-righteous ass in order to make a fool of her! Latula was probably smirking at how stupid she was, that she couldn’t piece together such a riddle. Her blade began to shake.

“Well?” Latula asked, “I’m giving you all the time you need, dude. You got an answer for me?”

The Seer took a deep breath to steady herself. Oh, yes, she had an answer.

With a battle cry to rival an army Terezi launched herself forward, swinging her blade with wild abandon. When no focus went to the mind, it flooded the body instead, and with that came a doubled ferocity in Terezi’s swordplay. In seconds the Beforan was sliced and stabbed, teal splurting into the air, and with one final swipe Latula was sent reeling down the mountain. There was a thud, and a cry, and a sickening crack before all went silent. No one dared check the mountain to see if the Beforan was alive – there was no point.

Terezi stood alone, dripping with the blood of her double and heaving for breath. Was that the right thing to do? No, of course not – she should have tried to answer the riddle at least. What she had done was most rash. It was an affront to her own pride that had spurred her on. This was not like the cheeky troll in the caverns trying to lure her into the Beforan ranks; she could not defer her answer to a next time. This battle was the only time she and Latula could meet, and it had to end with a death.

But not Terezi’s. For the sake of Prospit and Derse, for her friends, it could never be Terezi’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While certainly not as long as I would have liked, I've got to bring this chapter to a close. There was going to be something else, too, something you'll see in the beginning of the next chapter - another awesome happenstance that will add more to the mix - but I felt that it cluttered up the narrative too much.
> 
> Really proud of my Jane and Dirk scene in here, I'll say that. Bet y'all forgot this was a DirkJane fic, huh? :B


	12. Marquise

 

_Alone. It was a word that could describe the practitioners of the Art of Light very well. On the surface, it reflected their unique circumstance; they were the only pair that had never once met as children, let alone formed a bond with each other. Rose had felt herself a solitary rock in a vast ocean despite her family, her friends, even the troll that would become her lover; in time she learned to cut through the darkness and guide each of them to safe shores, a beacon in the tempest of life. Vriska bobbed in that tempest, drifting along the currents, bumping into others at random but always parting from them, never building bridges; she rode out storms through tenacity and luck, taking advantages wherever she found them._

_As such, both of these young ladies had very different understandings of their powers – and very different ideas on how to bring their kingdoms to victory._

~*~

A strange sight met the eyes of those that returned from the Battle of Mind with spinning heads and aching legs. In the throne room at the round table sat a cocoon of blankets in what had been deemed Aradia’s chair. Legs and stocking feet poked out from the bottom, swinging to an unheard beat. They were stared at unabashedly, everyone too tired to be on their guard, until they turned towards the lot and pulled back the blanket from their head. Bright, maroon eyes twinkled their way, refreshed and smiling; a wild bush of hair peeked out from behind, containing many noticeable streaks of grey. Their mouth had barely opened by the time the nobles and royals burst forth, calling their name.

“ _ARADIA!_ ”

Yes, their dear Lady Megido had returned, from the dead it seemed, for those who caught her in an embrace nearly gasped at how cold she felt, even through the blanket.

“Oh wow,” She said, chuckling softly, “Hello to you, too!”

“When the hell did you wake up?” Dave asked. He had pushed himself closest to her and propped his chin on her shoulder. “And where’s the doc? You should probably have, like, a checkup or something, to make sure everything’s okay-”

“I think it will have to wait,” Aradia said, “I sat up and said hello to him, and he fainted.”

“You didn’t leave him on the floor, did you?” Rose asked.

“Of course not! I put him in my bed.”

Laughter rang out from the group, laughter that filled every heart with joy. Anyone would beg to be included in such a happy moment…

…But Jane could not bring herself to do more than linger on the fringes.

The warmth that her peers radiated did not reach her. All she had was the warmth of Life, which had receded to her stomach and left the rest of her body ice cold. Latula’s words rang in her ears and reverberated in her mind, one line in particular etching itself into every crevice: “ _They wash away the mark of red_.”

There were some things that were not up for discussion in polite company, Jane felt, and her period was one of them. Her first one was marked with memories of terror, of bloodstained clothes and confusion and Caliborn’s unabashed fear. Never in all his centuries did he have to explain to a young girl the mark of her womanhood. That was something the castle servants took care of. Barely a day had passed after her period began that one of them was brought from the castle to tutor Jane in her own body, and though she had been a kindly old woman with great patience, though she answered every question the little princess asked and told her all sorts of tricks to muddle through the flow, periods were still tinged with fright for Jane. The only bit of solace she had was that they were always timely, and thus, always expected.

That fright was nothing against the quaking horror that mounted within her now, straining to remember when last she had seen that mark of red. When did it appear? She had it all through the spring and summer between each battle, of that she was positive; between Time and Breath, between Breath and Doom, between Doom and Blood, Blood and Heart, Heart and Space, Space and –

And…it had not come before Mind.

If anyone heard Jane gasp or saw her clasp her hands on her mouth, they did not speak up. It took all of her strength to reach a chair, and she practically collapsed into it. _Late_ , her thoughts echoed, _late!_ Never had she been late before, and with the heat of Life in her stomach, there was no way she could simply brush it off. Clearly, something was wrong – perhaps something had been done to her, no doubt in that blank space between her caravan and the Forge. But what?

The creak of a chair next to Jane made her jump, and she turned to see Terezi sliding into the seat. Teal blood had dried in gobs on her clothes and in her hair, but if her double’s blood bothered her she did not show it.

“Your Grace,” She said with a nod. Jane nodded jerkily back.

“L-Lady Pyrope…”

“Is something troubling you?”

Jane’s hands had fallen into her lap, fingers laced atop her stomach. She barely noticed she had done it. “I can’t imagine how you would get that idea.”

“You don’t reek of euphoria.” Terezi sniffed. “In fact, you’re completely devoid of it. You smell like dread, and it’s a scent I happen to like, but not on you. On you, it’s like I’m sitting on a beach full of rotting seaweed.”

The young Queen frowned. “How kind.”

“Thank you, I try. But seriously, what’s got your bleatbeast? Is it the Forge?”

Jane would have asked Terezi why _she_ was not celebrating at Aradia’s return, if only to change the subject, but the Seer’s mention of the Forge stopped her in her tracks. “What of the Forge…?”

“The one that’s in the mountain.” Sightless eyes turned to Jane, and a ghost of a razor grin spread on Terezi’s face. “It seems to be troubling Dirk quite a lot. He came to me…I want to say, perhaps a week ago, and he asked me to root around in his thinkpan for some misplaced memories.” She cackled. “Though I’m not sure how anyone could forget something like that! I know I can’t, and believe me when I say that I am very tempted to brew my pan into a stupor! Still, if that is the culprit of your malaise, I would be more than happy to bring it to justice.” The troll leaned closer. “So what do you say? Would you like a testimony from a witness, or a thorough cross-examination of yourself?”

An account of what Terezi learned from Dirk, or for Terezi to pull the memories from Jane’s mind – that was the short of it, and Jane shook her head immediately. “No – but thank you for offering,” She said, “I think this is…something I need to figure out on my own terms.”

Terezi sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Ah, well! It’s your choice, Jane, and I shall respect it. Do not forget that my door is always open to you…” Her voice lowered to a hush, and she leaned close to Jane’s ear. “Thanks for the out, though. I _really_ don’t want to relive those memories, even if they aren’t mine.”

With that the Seer left, blending into the jubilant crowd once more. She had probably been sincere, but all her offer had done was stir the pot of Jane’s fear and rankle the beast that was her curiosity. There _was_ something wrong with her – that she was certain of – and it was something that could send even a troll on edge. Perhaps it even had something to do with Latula’s parting riddle; after all, both the riddle and this mysterious event happened during battles with the Beforans. They could be linked, farfetched as the possibility was, but in this instance Jane would not ignore any inkling of a lead. She resolved to crack that riddle and go from there, matching up the answer to any ailments or problems she encountered.

Anyone would think her presumptuous, to tackle a riddle that such a high-standing and intelligent troll could not answer. To Jane, that didn’t matter. The welfare of her kingdom and her very life could be at stake, and for that she had to try.

~*~

The passing weeks brought a nip to the air and a restlessness to all who resided in the castle, for they sensed that there was indeed a light at the end of the tunnel of battle the cooler the hues of their adversaries became. None, however, were more restless than Lady Vriska Serket.

There had been so little for her to do these past months, other than marshal folks into celebrations. And why shouldn’t they celebrate? Their side was winning! So what if a few chumps ended up dead or unconscious? When the dust cleared, all that mattered was the final score, and they had seven wins and one tie, while the Beforans were saddled with a big fat zero. No question about it, Vriska would ensure their side’s eighth win, and she’d barely break a sweat doing it.

“-So why does everyone have to be soooooooo tense about it? Huh, John? Huuuuuuuuh?”

John sighed for the third time since Vriska had waltzed into his caravan and flopped dramatically onto his lap. He’d been doing a lot of paperwork recently, signing all sorts of important documents to make sure Prospit and this town continued to run. Jane usually did it, but lately she had been out of sight, leaving for town very early in the morning and coming back late at night with dark circles under her eyes, doing goodness knows what. It had to be making her sick; John had heard her throwing up outside just that morning, but she never said a word. The least he could do was help her out a little bit.

“Vriska,” He said, “This is kind of a serious thing. Of course people are going to be tense. That’s how it works. Would you please get off of the Streetlamp Society’s petition to raise their budget? I’d think that they’d really appreciate it if someone took the time to hear out why they need to upgrade their candle lamps.”

(Not that he preferred bureaucracy to hanging out with Vriska. It was for Jane. He could put up with this dull drudgery for Jane.)

The troll groaned and flailed her arms dramatically, but she rolled off of the petition. “Bluh! Fine, John. Fine! But you know I’m right! Good stuff is happening and we should be enjoying it!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean, who expected Megido to actually wake up? Honestly, not me. But it’s a good thing! The doctor guy examined her, and from what he found, he thinks he can wake Captor up too! So everything will be even _better_!”

“I see.”

“In my personal and expert opinion, we should be partying. We’ve practically got this war in the bag! C’mon, let’s go round everyone up, you and me! We’ll pull out the good stuff from the kitchens, dance on the table, all that fun stuff! I’ve even got a deck of cards, John. We could play strip pooooooooker…”

“That’s interesting.”

All at once, Vriska’s expression deflated. She flopped down upon John’s lap once more, ignoring his squawk of indignation as he held the Streetlamp Society petition above his head.

“John,” She said, “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

There was a thick layer of disappointment in that tone, and he could practically taste it on the back of his tongue. It was like a mouthful of too-sweet frosting on a sub-par cake, and it made him shudder.

“Of course I’m listening, Vriska!”

“Mmhmmmmmmmm.”

“No, really! It’s just, you know, I am listening, but you’re this little voice on one shoulder, and the Streetlamp people are another little voice on the other shoulder!”

Vriska blinked and looked pointedly at John’s shoulders. She only had one working eye, but it could pierce just as sharply as when she had use of both.

“There are no little people on your shoulder, John, much less a little me.”

“Well imagine there is! And both sides are tugging at my earlobes and shouting as loud as they can so they can be heard. It’s hard to distinguish one from the other, you know? I need to concentrate on one at a time.”

Her eye narrowed. “There aren’t even any of those lamp guys here, _physically_. You're just reading their words. How can they even be as loud as me?”

With an almighty groan of frustration, John threw the petition into the air. The pages fluttered down like giant snowflakes, and it would take forever to find them all again, but he didn’t care. “Vriska! I’m trying to tell you that I’m trying to work! Okay?”

“Well why didn’t you just say so?!”

“Because you should be able to see that for yourself!” John’s hands found his hair, and he struggled not to pull it out. “You’ve been coming to me for months now with every little complaint! And usually I don’t mind, because we’re friends and we grew up together and you’re a lot of fun to hang out with – but when I’ve gotta _do_ stuff, I can’t help you at the same time! I’m really sorry, and I know you’re mad-”

“Am not,” Vriska said.

“You’re totally mad, I know when you’re mad. Anyway! The point is that…I need some space right now, to do important things. Okay? When I’m done, I would be happy to dance on the table with you in the middle of a game of strip poker, but right now I have to take care of kingdom stuff. If nobody does it, it’ll become a giant problem later!”

John breathed heavily when his rant ceased, and his eyes were glued to Vriska beseechingly. She squinted up at him in stony silence before rolling off of John once more, rising to her feet.

“Alright,” She said, “Fine. I know when I gotta go.” Vriska huffed as she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her trousers and made for the door. “Bye.”

John rose. “Hey, don’t leave it like-”

But the door slammed shut, cutting him off. Vriska gave the door a kick with her heel for good measure. “Stupid John,” She muttered, and stalked towards the castle. Every rock she came across she kicked and paused to watch it skip across the grass.

“What’s his deal?” Vriska asked aloud, “What’s _everyone’s_ deal?”

She repeated this again and again, under her breath at first. As she closed in on the castle, she grew louder, until she yelled at the top of her lungs as she threw open the main door. No one was there to answer Vriska’s questions.

**_“AAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”_ **

With this mighty roar she burst into the grass corridor, honing in on Tavros’s door. She pounded on it with her fists until they bled, and, in a moment of delirious rage, she used her blood to write on it. ‘Toreadum8ass’, ‘Cripple’, ‘Fucking Nitram’, and variants thereof filled the space. She scrawled ‘LAAAAAAAAME8RAAAAAAAAIN’ right across his symbol and laughed until her cheeks turned blue. From there on she walked slowly along the wall, every door receiving a firm smack as she left her mark. Even the empty picture frame was not devoid of her morbid decoration.

When someone finally came to confront her, Vriska had lay down in front of her tower door with eye closed and breath heaving, her palms facing upward and crusting with blood.

“Have you completely lost your mind?”

Her eye fluttered open. Rose stood above her, wrapped in one of Kanaya’s shawls and scowling. Vriska closed her eye again.

“Fuck off, Lalonde. I’m fine. ‘S you all who’ve lost your minds.”

A nudge to the ribs was Rose’s response, and she wrinkled her nose as Vriska groaned. “I am absolutely serious. Your behavior is not only unacceptable, it’s frighteningly concerning. I’m going to get Kanaya.”

Vriska sat up sharply. “Don’t you bring your lousy, stupid, goddamn supportive matesprit down here! I don’t want to deal with a Maryam lecture, alright?”

Rose paused. “But…I was under the impression that you two were…?”

The troll huffed, pulling her knees to her chest. “We broke off the moirallegiance, like, a sweep ago. Duuuuuuuuh.”

“That’s odd. Kanaya still speaks palely of you-”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a _fuck_.” She leaned her head against her door with a thunk. “John’s my moirail now. He doesn’t want to talk, though. So I’m not talkin’.”

That should have ended it, Vriska thought. It always ended there. Instead, Rose knelt down beside her with a level stare and said, “Does John know he’s your moirail?”

Ah, crap. Lalonde and Maryam, both of them were such nosy-ass busybodies. No wonder they had ended up sucking face.

“Of course he knows!” Vriska said. “I hang out with him all the time and tell him stuff, he’s got to know! You’d have to be an idiot not to realize someone’s your moirail.”

“But did you tell him directly?” Rose asked, “He’s not a troll. He wouldn’t know that was expected of him unless you established it through more than your actions.”

Rose’s words rang with a truth that Vriska wanted to shy from. She had not explained to John his new place in her life; they had always been friends, and human friendship always had sickening tinges of pale. She figured it was inferred, but if he hadn’t picked up on it by now…

A lone eye glared over at Rose. “That’s none of your business,” Vriska said, “And didn’t I say that I won’t talk?”

The Duchess smiled. “You did, but you seem to be having a difficult time keeping to that affirmation.”

There was a pause. Vriska brought her hands to her hair and carded through the roots, scratching at the base of her horns.

“Well? My ears are open. My shoulder is bared for you to lean on. My schedule is clear. Continue, Lady Serket.”

Rose waited for Vriska to speak – she waited ten minutes, but the troll kept her mouth firmly shut, and by then Rose had to give up. She sighed and left Vriska to stew in her thoughts.

After all, you can’t help those who don’t help themselves.

~*~

The library of this little town in the Scratchlands was by no means comparable to the royal libraries of Prospit or Derse. It was in a small, squat building with no heat, half of its shelves still empty and full of young librarians who hadn’t quite mastered navigating their wares. Jane learned early on that she would have to rely on her own wit to parse the pages for the answers she sought.

That was why she was here, seated quietly at a table tucked into a corner, a modest pile of books at her side. Most of them had at least one tab, acting as a single thread to connect it to Latula’s riddle, which by now had been burned into Jane’s memory. No one knew she was here, of course. She had dressed plainly and wrapped a shawl around her head and neck, so it would be difficult for someone to recognize her on the spot. Imagine the uproar it would cause, if people knew what the Queen of Prospit had been reading! Already the librarians had given her odd looks, and they thought her as common as everyone else!

Today, the heavy tome in her hands was a biology textbook, probably on loan from a university. She had already tabbed a few pages on menstruation and replayed a mental list of causes for its disappearance: hormone imbalances, stress, extreme weight fluctuation, and early menopause among other things. So far, stress seemed like the right fit; how could she not be stressed with a war on? But stress didn’t fit with the rest of the riddle. That was why she had gone in search of rabbits.

Well, not literally. She flipped through the pages to every instance rabbits were mentioned, using the index at the back as her guide.

Five pages away. Her fingers found her tab on periods, and her eyes narrowed.

Two pages away. The chapter ended with a list of sources.

One page away. The next chapter had begun, simply entitled ‘Pregnancy’. Jane stilled.

Was this a joke? What did rabbits have to do with pregnancy? She wasn’t pregnant – she’d never even had sex before! Children were a far off thought to Jane, necessary for the future of the thrones of Prospit and Derse, but certainly not something to worry about now. She would have closed the book altogether, had her curiosity not urged her to turn that last page.

Her eyes skimmed the passages, honing in on ‘rabbit’ immediately. She read:

**A common practice in rural communities to determine pregnancy in its early stages is the use of the Rabbit Test. Couples living in remote areas would travel to the nearest physician and bring a female rabbit from their property, or use one of the physician’s for a small fee. The woman would provide a sample of urine, which would be injected into the rabbit. After a few days, the rabbit would be humanely killed and its ovaries examined; if the ovaries have become enlarged, the woman is-**

A thump snapped Jane’s concentration, and she looked up. A troll had sat across from her, rustblooded from the hue in their cheeks. She was similarly wrapped in a shawl, obscuring her horns, and had brought a teetering pile of books to the table. Snatching the top book on the pile, she cracked it open to the table of contents and shot a smile at Jane, a smile that was strangely familiar.

“Fancy seeing you here, Miss Lady Jane,” Aradia whispered.

Jane nearly dropped her book in surprise. “Aradia? How did you…what are you…”

“I know what you look like, silly, of course I can tell it’s you.” She pulled back her shawl, revealing her horns and graying hair. “I didn’t know you were here, though! So that’s a coincidence.”

“Yes, but…” Jane glanced down at her book. The damning words swam before her eyes, and she quickly shut it. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“What does anybody do at a library?” She flipped the book up to bear its cover. The spine read ‘Ghouls, Poltergeists, Spirits, and YOU: How To Contact The Unliving’. “I’m doing a little research.”

The Queen squinted at the title. “On ghosts?”

“On _talking_ to ghosts.” Aradia lay the book back down and resumed skimming the table of contents.

It was an odd enough topic to distract Jane from her dilemma, but just barely. “What inspired you to look into something like that?” She asked. “I mean, I know you’re rather fond of death, but I never pegged you as someone interested in life after death.”

The troll’s eyes flickered up, and for a moment they seemed to shine oddly, as if they were pearly white, and Jane’s heart jumped into her throat.

“…It’s…kind of hard to explain,” Aradia said. Her eyelids fluttered closed, slow and reverent. “And kind of hard to recall, too. But I’m pretty sure that while I was unconscious, I was also dead for a while.”

Dead – but how could that be? Jane knew the doctor and their assistant had been monitoring Aradia’s vitals through all these long months. Never had they reported anything less but her stable condition. There was no way, at any time, that Aradia could have been dead, not even for a minute!

“I know you’re thinking it’s impossible,” The troll said, “But that’s what it felt like. I knew I’d been knocked out, but I also knew that I wasn’t bound by my body. I was in this great expanse of…of everything, really. And in there, I could talk to others like me, who weren’t bound by bodies. So they had to be ghosts, right?”

Jane shook her head. “You’re asking the wrong person. I wouldn’t know that.”

“But if you had to take a guess, would you say they were ghosts?”

“I’d say you were dreaming!”

Aradia hummed and leaned back in her seat. “That’s what I thought when I woke up, too. But it didn’t feel like that. In dreams, all the rules are different. People you know look nothing like themselves, and it makes sense for ridiculous things to happen. I was acutely aware of who I was in that place, I know it, and those ghosts had important things to tell me – things I can’t quite remember.” All at once, Aradia brightened. “But I’ve got to, Jane! I remember they were all very keen on trying to help us. And…”

There was a pause. Aradia bit her bottom lip and looked down at her book again, thumb idly brushing against the corner of the pages.

“And…?” Jane asked.

“…Do you promise to believe me on this part?”

“Um – sure, alright. What is it?”

Aradia bowed her head. “I saw Tavros there, soon after I arrived” She said, “Nepeta too. And I swear Sollux flickered in and out every once in a while, but he never stayed for long.”

Just the mention of their departed and incapacitated friends made Jane’s blood run cold, and though neither of them could bring themselves to utter a single word, between troll and human it seemed something new and strange had opened up, something with vast and frightening potential.

~*~

The weeks came and went with startling speed, the chill of autumn ever permeating, and before Jane knew it, the Battle of Light had shown up on their doorstep, sunny and brilliant with a sky clear for miles. At any other time, Jane would have welcomed such a lovely day, but today dread drummed into her core and goaded her warm stomach into flip-flops.

(It could have been _that_ , too, that made her so nauseous. She refused to name it, stubbornly hoping she was wrong and simply because she had no proof _that_ was the answer. It would be too humiliating to ask. Oh, to turn her back on these awful Ides and retire to bed again!)

Dirk ignored her, doggedly avoiding her gaze. Jane was still furious at him, of course, but it was tempting to apologize, if only to receive some sort of comfort in return. A pat on the shoulder or a glance would assuage a great deal of her worry, and at this point she would take whatever kindness she could get. The same, however, could not be said for one of the users of the Art of Light.

Vriska strode on in front of all, her pace surprisingly energized, and she rubbed her flesh and metal hands together fervently. Dark cobalt rings had spread around her eyes, and at every stumble or cough from the troops behind she would whip her head around, mouth drawn back in a sneer.

“Hey! There better not be any belly-aching back there!” She’d exclaim, “Nobody’s getting out of this fight, okay?! Not even if you’re running a fever hotter than a volcano and can’t even stand! We’ve got a war to win and I won’t have any loser wigglers fucking it up!!!!!!!!”

The third time she said this, Karkat let out a frustrated groan. “Shit on a hive shingle, Serket! Nobody is complaining! It’s early in the morning and people are tired, what the flip-flapping fuck did you expect?! Perfect formation and tickle-free protein chutes?!?”

“Aw, now, calm down, Karbro,” Gamzee cooed, hands reaching out to take his little moiral by the shoulders. “Girl’s just all up and bunched in her nerves. You know what that’s bein’ about, right? So there ain’t no need to be upset.”

Not for the first time (but still to the amazement of many), Lord Makara’s words held valid wisdom, and Karkat shut his mouth at the other troll’s touch. Vriska, however, threw her head back and laughed.

“No need to be – Makara, you don’t _knoooooooow_ me!” She turned around and walked backwards up the mountain, her pace never faltering. “There isn’t an _inkling_ in that cracked mess you call a thinkpan of what _I_ am experiencing right now!”

Poor Gamzee! Surely he hadn’t expected such a response. He squinted up at Vriska in bamboozlement. “Uh…you alright, Vris-sis? You don’t gotta be name callin’-”

She threw her hands into the air. “I’m **_great_**! I’m more than **_great_** , I’m fucking fantastic!!! I’m going to ride into battle and ride out triumphant with that Beforan’s head on a pike!!!! And then you know what??????” Vriska turned on her heel and sprinted on, proclaiming at the top of her lungs, “I’M GONNA SHOVE IT UP THAT GODDAMN BENEFACTOR’S NOOK!!!!!!!!”

The troops, the royals and nobles, all came to a complete standstill as Vriska clamored up the mountain. A low whistle trilled through the air.

“ _Some_ body forgot to take their happy pills this morning – _ow!_ ”

“Dave,” Rose said through clenched teeth, “Don’t even start.”

When the others finally reached the top of the mountain, Vriska was waiting for them. Perhaps it was just Jane’s imagination, but it seemed that the troll was shaking, and she longed to reach out and comfort her. Vriska was one of her own, after all, a figurehead and fixture of Prospit. She was Jane’s responsibility – but before she could even take a step, Space’s familiar crackle rang through the air, and grass crunched under approaching footsteps. Over the peak of the mountain came a troll very similar to Vriska in the shape of her horns, the cobalt hue to her cheeks, the height and physique, but there was where the similarities ended. This Serket’s hair was cut in a bob, and both her eyes were intact behind delicate white spectacles. She wore a gown of brilliant orange, sporting bangles and scarves and all sorts of gauzy things, and she walked with a kind of ease that suggested complete peace of self. Compared to Vriska’s raving and scrambling, it was like a breath of fresh air.

The Beforan Serket curtsied before them, bowing her head with a smile. “Greetings,” She said – even her voice was sweet, nothing like Vriska’s brusque histrionics. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for quite some time.”

“Yeah, well, so have I,” Vriska said, rolling her shoulders. “You look a lot wimpier than I thought you would. And you call yourself a Serket?”

“Aranea Serket to be precise!” She beamed. “But I prefer another moniker. Perhaps you have heard of a Marquise Spinneret Mindfang?”

Vriska stilled, her hands grasped in mid-crack of her knuckles. Her good eye narrowed. “Maybe.”

“Well I can’t say I’m the real Mindfang, but I am partial to the name.” Aranea held her arms open, not just to Vriska, but to everyone. “She did many great things during her lifetime, didn’t she? That misty mythic madame of the seas! Anyone would be inspired to emulate her… _generosity_.”

At that word, Jane felt a gentle tugging at the corners of her mind. It was as if someone were trying to garner her attention.

“I would like to answer your many questions,” Aranea said, “About we Beforans, about our Benefactor. I would like to return to you what my peers have taken away – what the past has taken away. Won’t you allow me that?”

Yes, won’t they? It seemed perfectly logical, Jane thought. Or was that what the gentle tugging wanted? She couldn’t tell, and frankly, she began to think that it didn’t matter –

And then Vriska lunged.

The tugging suddenly ceased, and Jane’s mind was painfully shaken, but she had regained her wits. Judging by the groans and stumbling of those around her, they too had been taken under by the same strange spell. Before them, Vriska and Aranea tumbled onto the ground, the former clawing at the latter’s clothes.

“Shut up!!!!!!!!” Vriska exclaimed, “If you knew anything about Mindfang at all, you’d know that generous was the least of her traits!” With one swift movement, Vriska’s elbow pinned Aranea’s neck, and the Beforan gurgled beneath her. “You want us to agree to play nice, and then you’ll slit our throats when we least expect it – but that ain’t gonna fly with me!!!!”

Aranea gave a strangled laugh. “Ah – so was – I that – obvious?”

Vriska smirked. “It takes a pirate to know a pirate, sister.”

For a moment it seemed that Aranea was done for. Vriska leaned all of her weight onto her elbow, further cutting off her double’s breathing. Never had Jane seen a troll’s face so full of their hue – it was almost as if the Beforan’s head would pop. Then, in the blink of an eye, Vriska was thrown off of Aranea. Both trolls sprang to their feet and their differences disappeared in an instant; the Serkets threw themselves at each other, all snarl and claws and ferocity. Troops with weaker hearts than most stepped back from the sight, but Rose stepped forward.

“This is insane,” She said,  “I’m going to break them up-”

Dirk’s hand shot out and grabbed Rose by the collar of her shirt. “Do you want to lose a limb in that?” He asked. “Wait for them to wear out, and then drag them apart.”

She shook him off. “You know very well what a troll’s stamina is capable of. Something like that could take all day and night, we must act now!”

“We’re not going to act,” He said, teeth clenched. “I’m not losing anybody to idiocy. Stay. Your. _Hand_.”

For a long, silent moment, Rose and Dirk glared into each other’s eyes. Jane could almost hear their wills snarling against each other (but that could have been the actual snarls from the Serkets). Then, Rose slackened. “As you wish, Your Majesty,” She said. Dirk remained stony even as the title dripped like poison from her lips.

If not even Rose, who had a rightful place in the Battle of Light, could act, then what else was there to do but watch? Gruesome though it was, no eye could tear away from the spectacle before them, two identical trolls endeavoring to eviscerate each other with no way of knowing who would come out on top.

What happened next made the crowd gasp. Vriska and Aranea wrestled themselves back onto their feet and pushed each other away, both fishing within their clothes for something. Vriska pulled hers out first; it was a set of eight dice, each a brilliant blue with eight sides. She held them expertly between her fingers and thumb, two dice for every space. Within seconds Aranea replicated her stance, wielding a matching set.

Vriska laughed. “Oh, so is that how it is? You’ve got a fake Fluorite Octet on you now?”

“I can assure you that these dice are the furthest thing from fake,” Aranea said, “In fact, one might say that they are eight-hundred and eighty eight percent the genuine article.”

“That’s some mighty big talk coming from a dead troll!” Vriska flashed her dice with a flick of her wrist. “We both know I’ve got the _real_ set, from the wreckage of the _real_ ship of the _real_ Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. That’s three times as real as what you’re boasting – two thousand, six hundred, and sixty four percent real! Honestly, I suggest you pocket your toys and take your defeat well-done with a side of fries, because that’s the only way I’m serving it!”

Before Aranea could retort, Vriska tossed her dice out, and they hurtled through the air and bounced once, twice, three times before they landed. All at once an explosion enveloped the mountaintop, and the unlucky spectators shielded their eyes from the smoke that rushed to envelop them.

Even through the blast, everyone could hear Vriska’s triumphant yell. “Holy shit, hahahahahahahaha! Straight fours – Deus Explosion Machina!!!!!!!! Hope you like your loss extra crispy, you windbag of a-”

She never finished her sentence.

A particularly strong gust of wind pushed the smoke clear from the mountaintop, and at once Aranea was visible. She stood unharmed, a hand brought to her forehead as her eyes flashed in concentration. Her own dice lay at her feet, and in her other hand she held a long, thin tube. She took a deep breath, blew into it, and  eight tiny darts flew out of the tip. Vriska balked and ducked, but it seemed that something otherworldly guided their trajectory. The darts followed Vriska until they stuck into her neck, and she began to convulse immediately, cobalt pouring from her mouth. She sputtered and coughed, but she could not slam on her chest, and soon she lay very still.

Vriska Serket was dead, drowned in her own blood.

The tube disappeared from Aranea’s hand, and she looked to her audience with a smile. “Eight ones,” She said, “Or as I like to call it, Spider Eyes: Vicious Velocious Venom.” With deadly grace she plucked up her dice from the ground. “Now…who’s next?”

No one moved. Who would dare, after a spectacle like that? To think something with such precision – even if it obviously have some psychic help – could trump the finality of an explosion! Any sane human or troll would retreat, quaking in their boots at such unpredictability, for clearly they were up against someone who threw caution to the wind and, chances were, things would turn in their favor.

But that was what the Battle of Light was, at its core: all up to chance. Rose stepped forward, unsheathing her rapiers. “I knew I should’ve pulled you two apart.”

“Things probably would have been for the better if you had,” Aranea said with a chuckle. She flashed her dice. “Would you like me to try for circle eights? We can have a proper duel then.”

“You can try for whatever you wish, but after that display I highly doubt your integrity.”

How cold Rose was! How calm, how unshaken! It was as if Vriska’s death meant little to her, and to step up and face Aranea was an annoyance. She was still as Aranea cast her dice down, and the moment they hit the ground the troll began to glow. Her dress changed from orange tatters to sleek black, and in her hands appeared a magnificent cutlass. Cobalt wings had sprouted from her back, and she grinned.

“Well what do you know! Circle Eights – Ancestral Awakening!” She brandished her cutlass and pointed it towards Rose. “I didn’t even have to force it! Excuse the pun, but I am simply on a _roll_ today.”

There was a click, and sparks began to travel along Rose’s rapiers, black and violet copycats of Space’s crackle. “I’m afraid something so _eye-rollingly_ awful simply cannot be excused.”

For a moment, all was still, and the mountaintop was quiet enough for all present to hear a pin drop – and then the two ran towards each other, swords clashing overhead. The ferocity was present in Aranea once more; she had abandoned reason and swung her cutlass with intent to kill. Rose, on the other hand, kept her reason. Her form never faltered, and her blades always parried. She ducked and dove under Aranea’s swings as if it were child’s play, and that only served to make the troll fight harder, wilder, reaching out with her free hand to claw at Rose’s flesh as they fought.

Jane noticed something as the fight wore on. The more Rose’s rapiers hit Aranea’s cutlass, the more black and violet sparks flew into the air. They seemed to stick to the troll’s blade, travelling down the hilt and up her arm, until it too crackled just as brilliantly as Rose’s weapons. It was as Aranea’s arm slackened, the troll grasping at her shoulder as she tried to pry the sparks off, that Jane remembered something. The hilts of Rose’s rapiers were not just hilts; they were the handles of needle-like wands. She had abandoned the blades in favor of them during the final fight with Caliborn, but here they remained attached.

As Aranea screamed, the sparks now encasing her free hand, Rose rushed forward and kicked the troll hard in the stomach. She must have expected Aranea to fall and tumble down the mountain, but she merely cried in pain and stumbled back, teetering on the crest of the peak.

_“You huge bitch!!!”_ Aranea screamed, _“What is this???”_

Rose smiled. “Horrorterror magics. The darkest of the arcane, it feeds off of victims until they are nothing more than a husk to glut the Old Ones in the places not even Light can pierce.”

The troll let out a rattling gasp, less of shock or fear and more of…well, being fed off of. Her teeter became a backwards step, then a turn, and soon she was sprinting down the mountain in retreat. Rose followed immediately.

To Jane, there was no question in her mind what to do next. She pushed herself to the front and raised her trident high. “Come on! We’ve got to be sure Lady Serket is avenged, _come on!!_ ”

The troops, once frozen, seemed to burst into life. They returned Jane’s call to arms with a battle cry, brandishing their own weapons, and she led all who followed down the mountain. Rose may have had her opponent on the ropes, but one could never be too sure with these Beforans. This Battle had to be over and done with before Jane could rest.

Aranea dove into the Scratchlands’ forest below. Rose followed, and then Jane with the troops. They fanned out, cutting down bushes and small trees in their way, all hunting for their Beforan foe. Jane, so determined to give chase, barely noticed the others around her, tearing off into the unknown. The sound of tramping boots and blade against bark became faint to her ears.

It only occurred to her as she traveled on that perhaps running blindly into a still-dangerous woodland area and separating herself from others was a bad idea. The Scratchlands were dark, as they always were. That made it easier to see patches where light could filter through the thinner canopy – and that was how Jane saw her. Aranea, by some miracle, had dragged herself into a patch of light, supporting herself on her elbows. The black and violet had spread up both arms and partway down her torso, and she breathed with great difficulty. Somewhere along her trek, she had lost her glasses. Jane crept quietly forward, trident at the ready; it wasn’t her battle, but in this place not even the Benefactor would know who had killed his General.

It was a sound plan, by all means, but then Aranea spoke.

“Meenah,” She called, “Meenah…please, Meenah, I need your help…”

The name made fury hot as pitch bubble up in Jane, but the figure that dropped into the clearing made it overflow.

“Serket, youse far past anyfin I could do.”

Aranea groaned and reached out for Meenah’s feet; the other troll stepped back accordingly. “Please! I…you know me, I can still…the human cheated! This isn’t even a power associated w-with Light! The Benefactor will…he’ll understand…”

A sigh. “You know his policy’s aboat thick as chum on shit like this. No gettin’ through or around.” She knelt down to look Aranea in the eye and hissed. “Gurl, I ain’t gonna lie to you. Y’look like you got a foot in Troll Davey Jones’ Locker.”

Aranea could only rasp in response. Meenah reached for something at her back, and with a flick of her wrist it expanded to a full size, two-ended trident.

“It’s either end it now,” Meenah said, “Let this kooky shit run its course, or have the big boss pop you off. Don’t say he won’t, ‘cause he will. You were good as lost at sea once this stuff latched on, and he knows it.” With particular care, she leveled the middle tine of her trident on the back of Aranea’s neck, right at the base of the skull. “I can’t let you suffer, Serket. Close them eyes.”

The troll obeyed, and her body slumped onto the ground, too weak to support herself any longer. “… _Please_.”

The trident came down. Meenah looked away, unwittingly towards Jane. She blinked back tears.

“Doc Scratch,” Meenah said, “You’re a glubbin’ bastard.”

Jane’s body moved before her mind could register it, trident bared and pointed at the seadweller. Meenah’s eyes didn’t even widen when she noticed the young Queen, standing half in shadow and ready for a fight.

“Guppy, can’t you give a troll a moment’s mournin’?” She drawled. Jane gripped her trident tighter, her knuckles whitening.

“Who’s Doc Scratch?” She asked. Her voice boomed in the silence. “Tell me who he is!”

The troll sighed and hefted up her trident, the tine squelching as it was removed from Aranea’s now lifeless body. “I just went and mercy killed the only frond I got, and you’re givin’ me the tenth degree. You wanna fight? ‘Cause we ain’t s’posed to yet, and I ain’t in no condition for it-”

“You’ll tell me this very instant!!” Jane exclaimed, cutting off the troll’s words. “Is Doc Scratch your Benefactor?”

“He’s the boss man, so yeah, I guess he’s that too.” Meenah hefted her trident onto her shoulder. Her fingers twitched as cobalt blood dripped down the length and onto her hand. “Not that you can do much with a name if you don’t know where you’re lookin’. That’s why you’re askin’, right? To find out more about him?”

Jane resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Something like that should have been obvious, first of all! And second, there was no way she would allow her enemy to question _her_. “Then tell me this. What did this Doc Scratch have done to me?”

There was a pause. Meenah raised one of her eyebrows. “The glub you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb!” Jane jabbed her trident forward, and Meenah jerked back. “The Battle of Space! The Forge! Why did your Maryam send me there?”

Realization slowly dawned on Meenah’s face in the form of wrinkled repulsion. “Oh,” She said, “ _Oh_. Yeah. _That_ thing. _Eeeurgh_.” She flinched and shivered. “Just thinkin’ aboat it shivers my glub-damned timbers, and I’m not frond of pirate puns-”

“So you _do_ know!” Jane could barely keep her hand steady, and her stomach twisted up in anxious knots. “Tell me what your Doctor has had done to me!”

Meenah did not respond right away; if anything, Jane expected her to ask, ‘Or else what?’, but it never came. Instead she stared at the young Queen with an ever-intensifying disgust. “Guppy, Imma say it once for you, okay? Once.” Her arm shot out in a flash, her trident knocking Jane’s into the underbrush and leveling under her throat. “Scratch didn’t do nothin’. I didn’t do nothin’, Maryam didn’t do _nothin’_ besides unfurlin’ the sails – get you there, I mean. What got done? ‘S all on _you_ …and your first mate.”

The anxious knots became tighter, tight enough that they formed a lump in Jane’s throat. “My first mate…?”

“Yeeeeeah. Your boyfrond, your matesprit, whatever you call him – takes two to pail, right?”

Jane wanted to refute Meenah. She wanted to tell the troll she was wrong, that she could take her discourteous insinuations and shove them where the sun did not shine, but bile rose in her throat before words did. She doubled over and vomited spit and stomach acid into the grass, her body retching with all of its might, and by the time she looked up again Meenah had disappeared, Aranea’s body gone with her.

She stayed in that clearing until her breathing became normal, until the sound of approaching troops drew close enough for her to call out for help, should she need to – but not yet. For the first time, Jane brought a hand to rest on her stomach, and it felt as cold as ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaugh. Finallyyyyyyyyyyy. Here is the chapteeeeeeeeeeer. You probably figured out what's up with Jane by now, even if it hasn't been said. I trust you guys, you're smart.


	13. Broken

_This would be her last night in the Palace of Derse. Roxy was sure of it, and once she was sure of something no force in all the universe could change her mind. She had packed a satchel of her favorite things, like the pink dress with poof sleeves and her little stuffed kitten that had been stitched and sewn back together more times than she could count. She had tried to convince her sister to join her, as well as both of her cousins, but none of them agreed to brave the Void with her. It was their reluctance that confused her most; what was there to fear in the Void? Sure, it was dark, but that had never stopped her from finding that lovely golden hall before. All the days she had spent in the arms of that wonderful Madame or playing with her dark-haired friends, they were cherished memories, and the last thing she wanted was for them to end._

_Unfortunately, that was exactly what was happening, and it was all Lord Caliborn’s fault._

_“I knew he would come to me sooner or later,” The Madame told Roxy, “And the minute he sees Jane and Jake, he’ll know how important they are to me. He’ll take them. I think he knows you’ve been coming here, poppet, and he wants what he believes is due.”_

_If that was really the case, how could Roxy go on living here, knowing her friends would be under the thumb of the awful, terrible creature that made her family’s life a living hell? They were sweet, smiling rays of sunshine that did not deserve his cruelty. No one did! Leaving this place was revenge, rebellion, the perfect revolt – why couldn’t the others understand that?_

_Dejected, Roxy sat in the palace’s ballroom, hugging her satchel to her chest. The Madame warned her of when the Lord would be at the hall; he had been there all of yesterday and through this night, and once the sun appeared in the sky again Roxy could return to the hall without fear._

_The slow patter of footsteps broke her from her thoughts, and she turned to see a figure peering into the ballroom. It was Equius, her partner in Void, a troll quite muscular for only eight years of age. She could feel his eyes narrow as they focused on her._

_“Miss Duchess,” He said, the title rolling from his tongue with palatable formality, “The servants have kept the entire castle awake looking for you. What are you doing here?”_

_Roxy tried to muster up a cheerful smile for him. “Waiting to leave!”_

_There was a pause. Equius stepped into the ballroom and shut the door behind him, slowly crossing to her side. He folded his arms as he looked down at her. “I do not understand.”_

_“I’m gonna leave this place in the morning – for good!” She pushed herself to her feet, still clinging to her satchel. “Nobody else wants to come with me because I’m using the Void. They should, though! We won’t have to be afraid of Caliborn anymore if we’re not with him – we can be_ happy _!”_

_The troll narrowed his eyes further at her words. He had not yet adopted the blackened spectacles that would hide his piercing gaze, and thus Roxy flinched as it hardened. “And you are…using the Void to do this?” He asked. “The Void is no place for anyone to find happiness – ah, er, excuse my impertinence, of course, but – I only say this because it is true!” Equius bowed his head in a semblance of apology, but it only made Roxy frown._

_“Aw, come on!” She said, “Don’t tell me you’re scared of it, too!”_

_Equius shook his head. “No. I am not…scared. I am_ concerned _. Lord Caliborn…he is…terrible, yes. But I am STRONG. I will not run away from him.” His expression twisted into as much disdain as his regard for authority would allow. “Running away…is weakness.”_

_Roxy gasped, perhaps a touch more dramatic than necessary. “What?! Oh my gosh!! That’s an awful thing to say, why would you say that??”_

_“B-Because…it is true…”Blue flushed in his cheeks, and sweat began to bead at his temples. “Do forgive me…but…it is true…and as a Duchess…you must show STRENGTH…and not cowardice. For, as Troll Leonard Nimoy once said…the needs of the many…outweigh the needs…of the few…”_

_Pouting, Roxy turned on her heel and held her satchel ever tighter. Fine, she thought, let him assume she was a coward! As long as she knew how brave leaving really was, she would never be wrong._

_“You can’t change my mind just by being a meanie,” She said._

_“I…am aware. But I am not a meanie.”_

_“You are too!”_

_In that exclamation, Void plumed around Roxy, enveloping her in its depths. She ran in the absolute darkness, aimless it seemed, and for a moment she thought a clammy hand brushed her arm. It only spurred her onward, away from Caliborn, away from Derse, away from fear and pain. Only madness kept someone in such a place when pure bliss was within one’s reach._

_It wasn’t too late for them, Roxy thought many a time as her days with Calliope and the cohorts of Prospit passed. It would never be too late._

~*~

Vriska’s ashes spiraled up into the sky, just as Tavros’s had, just as Nepeta’s. The mourning felt less genuine this time; those who remained had numbed to the death of their friends and had run out of tears to shed. Jane could only speak for herself, and though she was loathe to admit it (because Vriska deserved to be mourned just as much as the others, they had all died so horribly), her thoughts were only for the flickering warmth in her belly. She kept her arms crossed in front of her stomach as she watched the smoke rise, wishing she were elsewhere, squirreled away in a dark little nook where no one would ever find her

There was a stubborn part of Jane that wanted Meenah to be wrong. After all, she had no memory of what she and Dirk had done in the Forge, but at the same time she’d be daft to ignore the signs right in front of her nose. No period for two months, now. Vomiting, not just in the morning but at any hour. Waking up in that wretched place without her clothes, her body aching in ways it had never ached, Terezi’s AND Meenah’s insinuations…

She couldn’t know for sure, but for now, Jane was certain she was pregnant.

Her breath caught in her throat at the thought alone. Pregnant! An unwed Queen at war, with the heir to two thrones in her womb! The Beforan supporters would be up in arms. _So quick to join the kingdoms together, eh? Can’t even wait until we’re beaten back and licking our wounds to get started?_ And the foreign kingdoms – oh, they didn’t even pretend to tolerate the trolls as it was! Something like this was sure to rile them. Any chance at alliances or trade routes would be firmly axed, and all the progress they had made to open Prospit and Derse to the world would be for naught. There was also the Battle of Life, which she knew she must take part in. It waited at the end of all these battles, if this Doc Scratch continued to climb the Hemospectrum with his Generals. How far along would she be then? Five months? Six? Certainly she’d be in no condition to fight, but how could she leave Feferi to face this final threat on her own? How could she abandon her family and friends when her turn came, when people were dying in the name of their homelands?

It was enough to send anyone to tears, and Jane was no exception. She bowed her head and wept, wiping her eyes furiously. No – no, she could get through this. She would be strong, _had_ to be strong.

The very next day she confronted the doctor, speaking in hushed tones over Sollux’s unconscious body. Having been in the vicinity of royalty for so many months and working with diligence and care all the while, the doctor was more than happy to assist the Queen, if only to have a break from Lord Captor’s unchanging status. She had a sample ready, and the doctor hid it in their black bag, promising results within the week and their unfailing confidentiality. All she had to do now was wait.

Of course, Jane was not the type to waste any time, even if she did spend it waiting. Again she donned a shawl and ventured to the library, gathering as many books as she could on her…possible condition. The librarians, though still naïve to her identity, began to give her less harsh looks as the days passed, instead offering her tomes that she had missed in her initial search. You need to know everything you can, they would say, their eyes lingering on her stomach. They meant well, of course, but it made Jane want to soak in a hot, hot bath until this little possibility melted away.

~*~

It was during that fitful week, while Jane buried herself in research, that a knock sounded on Equius’s tower door. He had taken up full residence there now, resigning himself to making it his new home, though visitors would barely be able to tell. All the room held was a recuperacoon, a table, a workbench, and a wooden shelf affixed to the wall, atop which numerous porcelain and glass figurines stood, a fine layer of dust dulling their usual luster.

The knock roused him from his workbench, where he had been attending to the minute mechanics of a crossbow. He felt the Battle of Void approaching on the horizon, only weeks away, and he had wanted something more reliable than his usual dueling weapon. What was more reliable than an arrow to the heart?

“You may enter,” He called, and turned back to his work. Two pairs of footsteps scuffled up the stairs, and when they finally halted in his threshold, he did not turn to acknowledge them.

“Lord Zahhak.”

The voice made him still. It was that of Rose, Duchess of Lalonde and well above him in rank. He turned immediately, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow.

“Ah, My Lady,” He said, bowing his head. He took notice of the troll beside her. “And Lady Pyrope as well. Please…do come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The Seers shared furtive glances, though Terezi’s was to the wall and not to Rose. It was the sentiment that counted.

“I’m afraid it’s far less pleasure than you would expect,” Rose said. “But, seeing as how it directly impacts you, we felt it imperative that you learn this first.”

Equius narrowed his eyes behind his cracked spectacles. They had something to tell him that they dared not inform their King or Queen beforehand? “It must be serious,” He said.

“Oh, yes, it’s rather _grave_ ,” Said Terezi. Something about her tone made Equius want to shiver, but he suppressed the urge. He was STRONG, after all.

Rose smacked Terezi on the shoulder, but the troll only laughed in response. “That was an awful thing to say, regarding the circumstances. Please, Terezi, have some tact.”

“I’m just trying to lighten the mood! Honestly, that should be _your_ job-”

This was ridiculous. Equius cleared his throat. “Lady Pyrope. Your tomfoolery is not appreciated. You should have more respect for someone of the Duchess of Lalonde’s standing, even if she is not from your kingdom.” He was fairly certain Terezi rolled her eyes, but he spoke on. “Now, what is it that has brought you here? As you can see, I am already embroiled in a…most important task. I do not have much time to waste.”

The Duchess nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll be brief. Terezi and I have finally deciphered our joint prophecy from last spring – or, at least, the most current part. We know who is to die next.”

“It’s you,” Terezi said. Her mouth drooped from its usual smile. “The first stanzas about people dying were about Tavros, Nepeta, and Vriska, in that order. The only remaining chump who fits the next stanza is you.”

If these words affected Equius, he did not show it. He stood quite still, his mouth drawn in a thin line, and even the beads of sweat that constantly formed at his brow clung to his skin, refusing to trickle down.

“We know it’s a lot to take in at once,” Rose said, “But we’re willing to try and figure out a way to keep you alive. Don’t misunderstand, Lord Zahhak – we don’t doubt your power or prowess. Your contemporaries were just as skilled in combat, and they died all the same. We don’t want this prophecy to become anymore of the truth than it already has.”

A low hiss sounded from Equius as he exhaled through his nostrils. His body relaxed, and he turned to his shelf of knickknacks. The olive kitten with blue speckles caught his eye, ever balanced on a bright red ball of yarn. “The truth,” He said, “Cannot be changed.”

“Like hell it can’t!” Terezi exclaimed, rapping on the floor with her cane. “We were complete idiots not to figure out what the prophecy meant sooner, but now that we know, we’re putting a stop to it! What’s the saying – better late than never? That’s what we’re doing here!”

“The truth _cannot_ be changed,” Equius repeated, firmer this time. “Nitram is dead. Serket is dead. Nepeta…” He paused, a tremor running down his arms to his hands. He took a deep breath and steadied himself once more. “They are dead. That is the truth, and we have agreed not to challenge the truth of death. I will be glad to meet mine.”

Rose gave an exasperated sigh. “Do you really want to die?” She asked. “Or do you grieve your moirail too deeply to care what happens anymore? If you need someone to talk to, we’re all here. We’ll all listen. I don’t want a repeat of Vriska’s breakdown because you’re suffering from a broken heart-”

He turned to face Rose sharply. “Broken _diamond_ ,” Equius growled. His tone made both Seers flinch, and he did not offer an apology. Slowly, he turned back to his shelf and approached it, eyes locked onto the olive green cat but not daring to touch it.

“For Nepeta’s sake,” He said, “I will fight. I will defeat the Beforan General of Void even if it takes the last ounce of my STRENGTH to do so. And I shall die. To me, it is honorable.”

“…And if you don’t defeat the Beforan?” Terezi asked. “What will we do then?”

“You will put your faith in the elder Duchess of Lalonde,” Equius said. “Or have you forgotten she too wields the power of the Void?”

If Equius or Rose bothered to strain their ears, and if Terezi had paid a touch closer attention, the three of them would have heard the softest of creaks, almost impossible to discern from the usual groans of the castle. On this day, however, no wind blew to make it groan so. It had been a head, laid on Equius’s door with ear pressed to the wood, lifted after its owner had their fill of dark banter, and that listener was Roxy. She popped out of the Void to stumble into the grass corridor, untrusting of her feet to be silent on the steps. Her focus tilted this way and that, and the headache she sported seemed to drill straight through her skull.

God, she needed a drink.

With practiced ease Roxy reached into her trouser pockets, fingers skimming the Void, and from them she plucked a glass bottle. The label read **‘Gnostalgia Genever’** – ah, very good. This was an old, old brand of alcohol made by Dersites for many centuries. The old kind was one of Roxy’s particular favorites; it was aged in wood barrels and had a touch of malty sweetness that made her think of better days. With a flick of her wrist she uncorked the bottle and took a deep swig.

Ah, yes, that was good. That was _perfect_. She tottered to the empty picture frame and plopped down before it, relishing in the lush grass.

No one had bothered to make sure Roxy trained herself for the upcoming battle. No one had even asked her how she felt about the war. By all accounts, she should have been used to being ignored. Never had she been taken seriously, by her family or her friends – never! Why was that, anyway? She stared at her bottle of genever as if it would tell her, but it remained silent. Clearly she hadn’t drunk enough.

Wait a second, she though as she took another drink, Calliope always took her seriously. The face of the Cherub swam before her mind’s eye. Even in these years after her death, the image of that green skin and sharp cheekbones and those big lime eyes were still crystal clear. People had feared the Cherubim when they were alive, and rightfully so, for they were terrifying! But Calliope had never terrified her. She had always been sweet, always been kind. She had always taken the time to listen to Roxy, and that was most important. How many times had she woken from nightmares of Caliborn and run to Calliope’s bed to be welcomed with opened arms, hushed and held until the bad dreams faded away? How often had the Cherub put important work aside to make sure Roxy was happy and smiling, that she was adjusting to life in Prospit’s golden halls?

If someone had asked Roxy if she loved the Cherub, the answer would always be a firm _yes_. She had cared for Calliope with all of her heart, perhaps even in a deeper way than the others. The late Madame’s actions in the grand scheme of things had been wrong, she knew, but at the same time Calliope should not have had to die. Why kill someone who wanted nothing but joy in the world?

“ _Nosebody_ should haveta die,” Roxy slurred, and she knocked back another gulp of genever.

~*~

The trouble with autumn was that its brilliance lasted only as long as the leaves on the trees. They fell quickly as the days passed, and the landscape of the Scratchlands melted into greys and browns, trees bare as they vainly stretched into the sky for warmth. Frigid winds quickly blew in, and frost was a common sight on windows and grass, heralding winter as it crept ever closer.

Despite the deepening cold, Jane continued to trek into town in the morning and make her way back to the caravan every night, mind buzzing with the fruits of her research and yet still in want of an answer. It was on one of these nights, less than two weeks before the Battle of Void, that an answer came, but not from books or intense thought. In fact, it came from something she had not expected at all.

This night was particularly cloudy, and the air smelled sharp, flooding Jane’s lungs with its icy touch. Dark bags had made their home beneath her eyes, and her feet ached from constant use; the idea that a warm bed awaited her, even if it was a nest of blankets heated by her family as they slept nearby, was like a sweet dream. No one would notice the creak of the ladder when she ascended, or the rustling of blankets as she slipped under them. These were little miracles, and she was grateful for them every day.

As she approached, Jane noticed that there was a soft glow coming from behind the caravan’s curtains. It was a candle, judging by how it flickered. Jane stopped in her tracks and stared with mouth agape. Had her brother or cousins left a candle lit on accident? Were they daft? The whole caravan would go up in smoke, and they with it! She grit her teeth and pushed herself to run the rest of the way, throwing the door open and ready to shout –

\- But the shout never came. It lodged itself in her throat as she took in the scene before her.

There wasn’t just one candle lit, it was several, all properly placed in holders and barely beginning to melt. The floor cushions she had used with her family when they sat together on the lower level were spread out in a tight circle with numerous blankets, and a basket sat in the middle, covered with a cloth. From it Jane could smell fresh bread – imagine that! Who could get fresh bread at this hour of the night?

Apparently, Dirk could.

He lay slumped on some of the floor cushions, breathing slow. Dirk was asleep, Jane realized, and he was completely alone in the caravan, for no sounds rustled from the loft above. A funny jolt ran through Jane at the sight. With soft, careful movements, shee closed the caravan door and crossed over to the young Kin, kneeling beside him. She shook his shoulder. “Dirk?”

“Nn…” He arched his back in a stretch. His spectacles were elsewhere, and his eyes dozily fluttered open, their orange luster misty. “Jane…?”

She rocked back, taking a seat on one of the floor cushions. “What’s all this?” She asked, gesturing to the setup. “Are you…is this some sort of…what _is_ it?”

Dirk yawned and pushed himself up, scrubbing at his eyes. “Wh… _oh_.” He took a moment to look around, recognition filtering in with each moment that passed. “Yeah. Right. Uh, hi.”

“Hi.” Jane frowned. “What do you want, Dirk? Don’t say you _don’t_ want something, it’s fairly obvious that you do. I’m going to tell you right now, I’m exhausted, and I’m not in the mood to play games – especially with someone who has betrayed my trust! So make it quick, and let me get to bed.”

It was Dirk’s turn to frown now. “Wow. Geez, if I knew you were going to be snippy, I might not have…”

But he did not finish his retort. He bit his tongue and looked away, his shoulders slumped. “Wait. No, fuck. I’m sorry. Well, not just for that, but…” He heaved a sigh and pushed the basket towards her. “Are you hungry?”

The stare Jane gave Dirk was the most level and cold she had ever sent his way. Slowly, she reached into the basket and pulled out one of its contents, a warm roll that felt like heaven against her hands. “A little,” She admitted, and took a nibble.

Taking the offering had relaxed Dirk. His eyes cleared and kept a gentle gaze. “Good. That’s good. Well, no, it’s kind of bad, but…you know what I mean. Um, I’m kind of here about a whole lot of stuff. I know we’ve been…mad. For like what, three months now?”

“Ten weeks,” Jane mumbled. There was a twinge in her stomach.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. And, well, you’ve been rightfully mad, and I’ve just been plain mad. Because of, you know. The Forge.”

Another twinge. “Go on.”

“…I wanted to apologize,” Dirk said at last. His face was devoid of stony stoicism, allowing guilt to leak into his features. “I’m sorry I kept the passage open. I’m sorry I never told you. But what I’m most sorry for is that you had to find out in one of the most fucked up ways possible.” There was a pause as Dirk ran a hand through his hair. “Neither of us remembered what happened down there. I still don’t. But I had Terezi look into it for me, and I’ve got enough of a foggy recollection to put the goddamn pieces together.”

At that moment he looked her dead in the eyes, and she realized he was shaking. Was Dirk nervous?

“We had sex,” He said at last. “We did the nasty, made the beast with two backs, however you want to say it. And I am so completely and utterly sorry, Jane. I never wanted us to do something like that until – until we were _ready_.”

A third twinge assaulted Jane, and she bit her own tongue against the words that tried to fight their way past her lips.

“It’s not something I liked thinking about,” Dirk continued, “Us…doing that. In general I mean, not just the one instance. It’s…confusing for me. I’ve always…y’know, got it up for dudes. On my own, of course, because I was always scared shitless of actually starting anything with someone. Hell, you know that better than anybody. But I’m not trying to say you’re ugly or undesirable – you’re not, you’re far from it! I just don’t see you in _that_ way, because there’s so much more about you that I see that’s so by far a million times more important. Your kindness and strength, your loyalty and bravery…these matter far more than popping a boner. They’re what make a true partner for life. I knew eventually we’d have to pop out an heir, so I always figured we’d have time to…y’know, talk all of this out. Help each other. Take it slow. Because at the end of the day, I am not a heterosexual Jane, but I’ll love you with all I’ve got, even when I’m ashes scattered in the wind.”

He took a moment to collect himself, and Jane found her voice. “B-But it wasn’t…either of our faults,” She said in a weak croak. Meenah’s words echoed defiantly in her head: _What got done? ‘S all on_ you _and your first mate_.

“I know,” Dirk said, and shook his head. “I know. But I want to apologize regardless. Especially considering how much of an ass I’ve been since I found out. I’ve flat out ignored you and tried to convince myself you were wrong and overreacting, but I couldn’t. Not when everyone started to come to me asking if you were okay.”

“…What do you mean?”

“What do _you_ mean? You’ve been going AWOL, Jane. Disappearing all day, barely sleeping and throwing up, according to John – you’re making yourself sick, and I feel like it’s my fault because I’ve been a huge whiny dick. Even if you’re doing it for some other reason, it’s like…you’re hurt, and I can’t stand that. I want to help you feel better, and the way to begin that is to make amends.” He bowed his head. “So…I fucked up with the Forge. Big time. And I’m going to fix it – I’ve got workmen filling in the door cracks already. Soon it’ll be an ordinary wall, which is what it should’ve been all along.”

He smiled then, but it took everything Jane had to hold back a sob. It must have been a terrible struggle for Dirk to accept that he was at fault, to even admit to his concerns at all! And to take on the guilt of what he could not control, and to try and rectify it all! She felt like she was sixteen all over again, speaking to a sleepy Prince at the mouth of the Forge as he begged her to stay by his side. The only difference was that this time, it was not right to run away. She had to stay her ground and bear herself, just as Dirk had done, or she would quickly regret it.

With a deep breath Jane reached over to take Dirk’s hand. She held it tight. “I…I forgive you. And I love you, too, and I thank you, for being able to…say all that. It means so much to me, it really does. But, Dirk…might I be honest with you?”

The young King’s brows furrowed, and his other hand rested atop Jane’s. “Of course,” He said, “Always. What’s on your mind?”

“I…” When had her mouth become so dry? She cleared her throat and swallowed once, twice, before starting again. “I think – I need to apologize, too. I’ve put us in a terrible fix, and…I have some ideas of what to do, but it’s too big for me to decide on my own, and I’m – I’m _scared_ , frankly. Promise you won’t – promise you won’t _hate_ me, Dirk, _please_.”

A squeeze of the hand atop hers. “I’ve never hated you willingly. I’m not about to start.”

It was now or never. Jane took one more deep breath and closed her eyes. “Dirk…I’m pregnant.”

And there it was. Saying it made her stomach twinges turn into flip-flops and knots, and she immediately wished she hadn’t eaten a single crumb of that roll, but no vomit rose in her throat. The caravan floor creaked as Dirk leaned closer.

“You’re not joking,” He said in disbelief. “You’re not – I’d know if you were joking. But you’ve gotta be. Jane, please-”

“I’m not joking!!!” Jane pulled her hand away, her voice cracking with emotion. “I’m on the nest, there’s a bun in my oven, whichever euphemism you use doesn’t make it less true! Sex has consequences, whether we were in our right minds or not, and I’d be a fool to think we’ve gotten off scot-free!” The sob in her throat really did come out now, and hot, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away, her hands curling into fists on her lap. “I know I couldn’t possibly have control over something like this, but it’s still my fault! It’s my fault, and I don’t know how to f-fix it…”

Dirk was quiet for a long time, and she did not look at him, afraid of what his unguarded eyes would reveal. Then, quite suddenly, she felt the rough pad of his thumb brush at the corners of her eyes.

“You’re absolutely certain?” He asked, his voice hushed. She nodded.

“I had the doctor – do a test. The results came back positive. I had them promise not to tell.”

He hummed softly through his nose. “Good. The second this gets out, no one is going to take it well. Even the citizens who support us are going to be side-eyeing us real hard, and nobody’s gonna care _how_ it happened, just that it _is_.”

“I know.”

Another brush of the thumb. “You can’t fight with…in that sort of condition. Especially considering when the Battle of Life coincides. It’s not safe, plain and simple.”

 “I _know_ , Dirk.”

So they were on the same page. That was good, right? He continued to wipe her tears away in silence, and she could hear his every breath, quick and shallow. Jane opened her eyes to chance a look at him, only to see that Dirk’s were unnaturally riveted on her face, as if purposely trying not to look at anything else.

“I – I read some things,” She said, “About – termination? Perhaps the doctor-”

All at once, Dirk tensed. “ _No_.”

“What…?”

“You’re not getting an abortion.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed. “We both agree this isn’t going to help our situation. Something’s got to be done!”

“Do you even know about abortions in this day and age?!” Dirk’s eyes hardened, and his voice grew louder with every word. Jane was stunned. “Do you have any idea how – _unsafe_ – in the years I’ve been the one in charge of shit, and not Caliborn, I must have seen dozens of doctors sentenced to incarceration for _criminally negligent manslaughter_ because women were going missing after trying to terminate pregnancies. Tell me you know what that means, and then tell me again that you want an abortion. Go ahead. Tell me.”

Jane knew what it meant all right. Her face quickly paled. “You think the doctor would…kill me?”

“Not on purpose. But it’s happened too many times in Derse for me to even consider that as an option.” He was shaking now, visibly shaking, like a dog frightened of far-off fireworks. “We agreed on no resurrection. We agreed on keeping the Forge closed, and I’m finally adhering to that. But I swore that I wouldn’t allow any of our number to be lost if I could help it.” Dirk reached out and took Jane’s hands in his own. “I’m already on my knees, here, so I’ll beg if I have to keep you from it. I can’t let you die, Jane. You are more important to me than those foreign douchebags and the threat of civil war combined.”

They could still try, Jane thought weakly, but the longer she looked into Dirk’s eyes the less she wanted to. He looked genuinely frightened. Still, could she really risk her life this way? Her research on termination had mentioned how often death befell the desperate mother, but she had thought herself alone at the time, with no one by her side to support her. Now more than ever she knew Dirk was there for her regardless of his anxieties, and it strengthened her in ways she never thought possible.

 “…We’ll have to tell the others soon, then,” Jane said, “We’re not springing it on them like you did our engagement. They deserve to know. Perhaps…after the Battle of Void?”

Dirk nodded solemnly. “Right after it might be hard, but…maybe a couple days after, yeah. What about the citizens?” He asked, “When do we spread the word to the people? The ones in town will notice first, once word circulates through the servants and workmen. It’ll only spread like a sick, unrelenting virus from there, until the entire world knows about us.”

Jane shook her head. “I don’t know. When do you think would be a good time?”

Dirk was quiet as he contemplated this. His eyes flickered to her belly. “…Could I just…take a look at you for a second?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He let go of her hands and gently guided her to turn. “Let me see your profile. Lift your shirt up a little bit, too, it’s way too baggy for me to tell.”

That was the point, Jane wanted to say, but she complied anyway, turning and pulling her shirt up  so it only covered her breasts. She’d always been softer and curvier than other girls no matter her diet, but lately she had noticed a very slight roundness to her stomach, and pure panic had driven her to wear only the loosest clothes she had. She thought herself alone, after all, and dreaded the scrutiny of a suspicious gaze.

Dirk seemed to drink in the sight of her, quiet and reverent. After a moment’s hesitation he placed a hand on her belly, pressing curiously against her skin. His hand was rough, calloused, a little cold, but altogether gentle, and it made her shiver with something she couldn’t quite place. “Lower stomach’s a bit firm,” He said, “But you don’t look too different. We’ll…play it by ear, I guess.”

“I-I guess so,” Jane managed to say. When Dirk finally pulled away she let her shirt drop down with a sigh of relief. This really was too much for her to take, especially all at once. Dirk seemed to notice, for he drew the blankets and pillows closer.

“Alright,” He said, “Well. You look like death warmed over, and that’s bad news no matter what. I say we sleep. Your brother and cousins are having a sleepover with my brother and cousins tonight, at my request, so they won’t be back to bother us. To tell the truth, I am way too beat to even think about climbing into your loft, so how about we make ourselves cozy down here, hm?” Jane nodded, and Dirk made sure she was well-wrapped in blankets before he rose to blow out the candles, plunging them into darkness.

“I’m frightened, Dirk,” Jane said suddenly. “I am positively _petrified_.”

The caravan floor creaked as he crossed to her, sitting by her side and taking her in his arms. “…So am I.”

~*~

“I believe,” Equius said, gaze turned towards the sky, “It may snow today.”

Roxy took a swig from her flask. “Oh yah? Whash…What makes y’thunk shoh?”

The armies behind them marched dutifully onward up the mountain, the grass slippery with frost and the dirt frozen firm. Overhead clouds hung low and heavy, darkening the land and chilling it further. If there could ever be a perfect atmosphere for the Battle of Void, this weather made it.

Equius allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and breathe. “It simply appears to be the ‘calm before the storm’, as some say. It has been sufficiently cold enough for snowfall for the past few days as well. Therefore, one can surmise-”

“Shnooooow!” Roxy exclaimed, throwing her arms up in triumph. “Homigawd…homigawd, shnow! We should have a shnow day, right? No butters today – _fuck_ , battles, yeah. No battles. Right? Right?”

The troll grunted and shifted the drunk Duchess’s weight on his back. “Your attempts to coerce me into turning back are…laughable, at best. If you will forgive my saying so.” He barely seemed to notice when she patted his shoulder.

“’Polagy ‘cepted, ol’ buddy ol’ pal! Don’ you think nofin’ of ish!”

It really was a ridiculous state of affairs. Roxy had been found in the kitchens that morning with half the contents of the castle’s liquor stock emptied into her gullet, and she had been difficult to rouse. Equius had promptly offered to carry her up the mountain.

“She must be there,” He said, when Jane tried to convince him to let her stay behind, “Her presence…is what ultimately matters.”

Was he frightened? None could say who were alive. Equius marched with rigid invigoration, mechanically plodding one foot in front of the other and unhindered by Roxy’s weight. (Then again, she was quite thin, so not many would find her encumbering.) Rarely did his gaze leave the peak of the mountain, drawing ever nearer with every step, his breath billowing forth like a great draught horse. Even if he came alone, anyone would be intimidated by the sight of this troll and would run for home crying for their guardians.

Anyone, that is, except the Beforan Zahhak.

He could be no one else, this troll that awaited them on the mountain. He stood with arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips curled in a crooked, wistful smile. Unlike Equius, his horns were pristine, not a chip or crack to be seen, and his eyes were obscured by a strange goggled apparatus instead of spectacles. His hair was long and swept back in a ponytail, unusually neat compared to Equius’s stringy, sweaty locks. He was lithe where Equius was bulky, but the way he held himself spoke of a similar strength, one that was undeniable and impossible to underestimate.

“Well,” The Beforan said as they reached the peak at last, “It seems you straggled to meet me today. I had been considering turning back and calling for the Benefactor’s troops, assuming you would not show. I am most glad you’ve proven me wrong.”

Equius knelt and allowed Roxy to slip off of his back, handling her with ginger care. “As if we would even… _entertain_ the idea of refusing your challenge. We have…” He looked away for a moment to take a deep, shuddering breath. “We have lost…many…who are dear to us. Their sacrifices…must not be left in vain.”

There was a pause between the Zahhaks, and an icy wind rolled through, piercing clothes and armor. Then, the Beforan chuckled.

Equius frowned and cracked his knuckles. “What is so humorous to you?” He asked. The Beforan’s goggles glinted, though there was no light for their glass to reflect.

“Just – your assumptions, is all,” The Beforan said.

“My… _assumptions_?”

“That you are the only ones who have lost something in this battle.” Arms uncrossed, hands pressed together. “We fight for vengeance too, you see. In these past months I have lost both my matesprit and my moirail at the hands of your friends. Truthfully, I could not be more distraught.”

He said this with such poise that it was almost impossible to believe he was distraught – almost. The Beforan paused for just a moment, and a subtle tremor ran through his body, as if grief and rage boiled just beneath the surface of his calm.

“Another of our number has lost his matesprit and moirail as well,” He continued, “And yet another has had to watch as all her friends drop like flies, one by one. She even had a hand in her dearest friend’s death. Frankly, our losses are on a much greater scale than yours, for we know what has been taken from trollmanity – _truly_ know it, not speculate it. All that awaits us if we fail is the yawning maw of the Void, and though it’s cold touch runs through my veins, I would much rather prefer not to dissolve into it completely.”

Through all this Equius listened with head cocked and fingers twitching towards the crossbow at his side. “Tell me your name,” He said, lifting his head with a crack, “And your title as well. Your contemporaries…seem to have all sported one proudly. I should like to know yours before we begin.”

The Beforan nodded. “Horuss Zahhak, The Darkleerer. Only one who has looked Void in the face and not gone mad can bear that title.”

“It sounds positively…ludicrous.” To the astonishment of the onlookers, Equius removed his crossbow and laid it behind him on the grass. He rolled his neck and shoulders. Horuss stretched out his arms and began to rock from foot to foot.

“Ahah,” Said the Beforan, “So you choose fisticuffs over the draw. Excellent. That bow is so shoddily made, it would have snapped once you pulled the trigger anyway.” He looked down his nose at the crossbow and continued with a confident air. “Believe me, I am quite a tinkerer myself, and can spot such things from even this distance.”

“We shall see the truth of your words once the arrow pierces your skull as you lay dying,” Equius spat back. Then, without even a beat of silence to spare, both Zahhaks launched themselves at each other.

This was nothing like the fight between the Serkets, where malice and desperation turned the trolls into snarling beasts. No, this was a battle of tightly closed fists that swung fast and hard, blow meeting blow, eyes for eyes and teeth for teeth. None present had ever seen anything like it, save one or two folks who might have frequented boxing matches, and even those could not match how fluid every motion appeared; if no one had known any better, it would be said that the Zahhaks skimmed the blades of grass in flight instead of bounded with every step. Equius was surprisingly light on his feet, light enough to match the (by comparison) spritely Horuss, and every punch he threw met its mark, whether it be for head or torso or horns.

The only thing was, Horuss punched with just as much strength, just as much speed, and just as much accuracy.

Roxy watched as the others watched – what else could she do? Drunk as a skunk the Zahhaks wobbled before her, and she barely shivered at the blustery winds, her core warm from alcohol. Even half out of her wits, she could see that the fight was impressive. Folks paid serious money for bouts half as intense, and here she was watching for free…but there was no joy in it, no excitement. The soldiers and her peers observed in silence with hands on their weapons, ready to charge in at a moment’s notice and die if need be.

Why, Roxy suddenly thought, did they even give the Beforans the time of day? Why not just ignore them and carry on as if no one opposed them, as if this little faction wasn’t worth their time? They would have a lot less dead friends that way, wouldn’t they? They could put a stop to it even now. They could barricade the castle doors and live without this war, without any war, just as Calliope would have wanted. Why didn’t they?

Only when the last dregs of alcohol released their hold on Roxy and let a creeping, pounding headache take the helm did she realize why. Sobriety is a heavy-handed slap in the face from reality, as some say, and Roxy’s head jerked as if she had actually been struck.

Why did they fight? It was simple – because there were more important things in their lives than personal peace and happiness. What Equius did right now, what all the trolls and humans had done before, was to ensure the future peace and happiness of others. They took the suffering upon themselves so that the citizens did not, to keep their countries thriving and free and be masters of their own destinies. It was why the Cherubim had been overthrown in the first place, and Roxy had allowed herself to wallow in her vice so thoroughly that this concept of freedom and self sacrifice had completely escaped her.

Well, no more. It wasn’t too late, after all. It was never too late.

As Equius and Horuss danced about each other, sweat pouring down their bodies, Roxy inched towards the forgotten crossbow. She had to be mindful of the Beforan’s leer, for if he spotted her this effort would be for naught.

Unbeknownst to her, the Zahhaks had come to blows again. It was clear that both still had stores of strength to spare, but the length of the battle had worn their conservation thin. They dodged with more ferocity, and punches, when they landed, made each troll stagger back for longer. Bruises began to bloom on their faces and blue blood gushed freely from their now broken noses.

It was evident that both trolls would have fought until they dropped to the ground, had the tables not turned. As Horuss made to duck away from Equius’s fist, he jerked his head to the side. At that moment, Equius brought his other fist up and slammed it into one of Horuss’s goggle lenses. Black glass flew, and the armies cheered as the Beforan fell on his side. Neither of the trolls had yet used a feint to such success! What a moment! Even a good brawl could get boring when the scales were not tipped, after all.

With a crack of his knuckles Equius knelt beside Horuss, breathing heavily through his mouth. “Are you…finished…making an utter fool of yourself?” He asked. “Because if you are…I would be more than happy to end this...but I cannot promise that it will be painless.”

His opponent gave a raspy chuckle and turned to look up. Only Equius saw how twisted the Beforan’s smile had become, and how his now visible pearly eye glinted despite the blood that dribbled from it.

“Not even… _close!!_ ”

Horuss thrust his head forward, digging his horns into Equius’s torso, and there was a sickening crack that rang out from the mountain peak. It set every nerve on edge, for soldiers and nobles who had risen to power through strife knew the sound of breaking bone.

With gurgling breath Equius slumped back, grasping at his chest in vain, and his face swiftly turned a deep shade of blue as his lungs struggled. Whatever had broken, it was obvious that it had punctured his lungs. Horuss’s grin grew as he staggered to his feet to watch.

“That was for Rufioh,” He said, “For Meulin! And for all the rest! For the blood your kin has spilt – but no more! It ends here, with the Void, encompassing all in its path, until even it no longer exi-”

An arrow suddenly pierced Horuss’s skull from behind, sprouting from his other goggle lens like a weed in a crack of pavement. He dropped to the ground, and there stood Roxy, the Void fading from her figure as Equius’s crossbow fell to pieces in her hands. She looked at the two trolls with as much wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock as the others, and a strong gust of wind rolled through, bringing with it the first snowfall of winter.

“…He w’s right,” Roxy slurred softly, “The cr’ssbow…broke. With jus’ one shot…!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say for sure if I'll be able to get the next chapter up before I go on vacation - from the night of August 1st to the night of August 8th, I'm going to be visiting my grandparents in Nevada! Can't say I'll be able to get much writing done while I'm there, but I will definitely be working on more before I go, so we'll see what happens.
> 
> So...yeah. Jane's pregnant! I think most of you figured that out already. None of you know just how pumped I am to finally bring in this plot thread. Like, stupid ridiculous insanely pumped. /eyebrow waggle


	14. Mirth

_The Wicked Elixir was not a casual imbibement. By the vague, eccentric laws of those who followed the teachings of the Mirthful Messiahs, to even drink it outside of sessions of worship was seen as a heresy of the most motherfucking high, and special rules were set in place hundreds of sweeps ago regulating its manufacture and sale – but when your religion is full of bloodthirsty, hyper-powerful beings with a penchant for facepaint and one-wheeled apparatuses, said vague and eccentric laws are, well, vague and eccentric. Any bottle of Elixir could have been made from the tears of bleatbeast wigglers and fruits mashed with moonstones, then stirred counterclockwise to the tune of the crumbling of time during a red gibbous moon, so long as its creator convinced you it was – a convincing that often involved bludgeoning and voices in one’s head – and any large enough gathering of the faithful could be considered a session for worship if its participants shouted loud enough._

_So, as he downed his forth bottle of the blessed brew, Gamzee relished how it bubbled in his throat and rode the wave of raucous screams as his brethren in blood sprayed each other with their most sacred of drinks._

_He’d originally been put in a cavern with a good mix of trolls while awaiting his turn at the pails, and he had intended to stay there. It was only when three of his caste made themselves known – honking with vigor and swearing so potently it would make the Mother Grub blush – that he had any inkling of breaking from the pack. He tagged lazily along as the trio slunk out, making their way deeper into the dank, dark caverns, every inch of stone slicker than the last, until they emerged in what must have been the second largest cave in the network. Gamzee paused at its entrance to take in the sight before him: thousands of Mirthfuls, brothers and sisters and everything in between all reveling in impromptu worship. Several larger trolls, possibly a few sweeps older, engaged in epic rap battles before the throng and threw praise to the Dark Carnival with every rhyme. Rough, reverent effigies of the Lord and Madame surfed the crowds; they were still the figureheads, even for their misdeeds, and why shouldn’t they be? Their actions had done so much to revolutionize these two countries, it only made sense to propagate their infamy._

_It was all a young Mirthful could want while awaiting their duties to trollkind, the perfect celebration to take the edge off. Truthfully, as the Prospitian Pontiff of Theological Affairs, he should make himself known to the crowd and make the celebration an official session of worship, but as Gamzee Makara he could not be bothered to give a single, solitary shit._

_As he reached for a fifth bottle his hand brushed another’s, and he turned with a frown. “Aw, man, sorry about that my invertebrosis, this yours?”_

_The words left his lips before he registered who he spoke to. It was a troll of course, similar to him in size and horn shape in a long, indigo cloak with a hood that shrouded their face. Their hand recoiled, and they spoke…sort of. Gamzee knew it was the other troll whose words entered his consciousness, the glowing flicker of eyes punctuated with every word, but even someone who hadn’t made a habit of ingesting sopor slime would find it hard to discern between spoken word and transmitted thought in the din of honking halleluiahs._

**_“You ain’t needin’ no apologies. The Elixir is plentiful as grass in the fields, my merry motherfucker. That is, of course, if you’re down with drinkin’ what’s sub-par compared to my brew.”_ **

_Oho, so this fellow was a concoctor of Elixir! And a boaster at that! “Wow, man. When y’all be puttin’ it so plainlike, it kinda makes a brother wanna try some.”_

**_“’Course.”_ ** _The troll reached into his cloak and pulled out a small flask, the word ‘Faygo’ inscribed on it in pristine cursive. He held it out to Gamzee. **“That’s all up ‘n the intent.”**_

_“Amen to that,” Gamzee said, and he took the flask and drained it with gusto. The Elixir within was sweet like honey with a touch of grape, and the fizz it produced was sublime. The young Lord smacked his lips. “Aw, shit, you ain’t kiddin’ neither! That’s like some miraculous nectar from the bitchtit’s teat right there! What’s your name?”_

_The troll’s head turned slightly, as if looking for listeners. **“Carlos,”** He said. With how thickly the name was on the tongue, any other troll would have immediately laughed and asked him what his real name was, but to Gamzee it was as good as any other. He held a hand up for a high five, and Carlos reluctantly met it._

_“Good to be meetin’ you, my brother of the Big Top. Call me Gamzee.”_

**_“Good to be meetin’ you,”_ ** _Said Carlos. He sidled up to Gamzee and pulled another Faygo flask from his cloak. **“I ain’t showin’ disrespesct, but I’d like to ask you somethin’.”**_

_Gamzee snorted and clinked the flask in his hand with the other troll’s. “Shoot.”_

**_“Ain’t Gamzee the name of the Pontiff in Prospit?”_ **

_“Well I’d be all up and thinkin’ so, since that’s who I’m all about bein’.”_

_Carlos hummed and nodded sagely, taking a sip from his flask. **“You don’t act like no Pontiff I ever seen.”** It was said with a tinge of disdain, as if he were looking down his nose at Gamzee, but how could that be? Motherfucker hadn’t even lifted his head. **“From what scriptures we got, Pontiffs should be both joy and rage, embodied in one earthly meatsack and dispensin’ miracles out the ass-end. You’re comin’ off kinda like lukewarm grubsauce.”**_

_Gamzee shrugged. He got that a lot from the Head Pontiffs he worked with, operating their churches with a stern outlook to both unbridled euphoria and unmitigated wrath. It just wasn’t his style, for he had never been raised to let such things run free. Under Calliope’s care he never felt an inkling towards either extreme, and only when she was dead did strange thoughts worm their way into his pan, whispers and urges that chilled him to the very bone and a mourning for the Madame that was more withdrawal than despair. They turned his new life into an unending dream of terror – and that was how he had gotten the idea._

_“Man, that’s just the sopor,” He said to Carlos, “Slurp down a handful and it keeps a motherfucker mellow all day and night, keeps the downs away like a voodoo ninja wizard bodyguard. Tastes kinda like…” Gamzee paused, sucking on his teeth as he tried to remember the flavor. “Lime and…pistachio puddin’? Well, heh, ‘s what it looks like anyhoo.”_

_That was odd. He hadn’t admitted his self-prescribed fix to anyone before, save his palest of brothers. Must have been the right plain friendly atmosphere of worship’s miraculous magic._

_The glow from Carlos’s eyes flickered. **“If that ain’t one a the foolest things a fool ever up and did,”** He said, **“May the Messiahs SKEWER ME THROUGH WITH A BROKEN BROOMSTICK!!!!”**_

_The words echoed so loudly in Gamzee’s head that he tottered back, eyes wide and tearing as if he had just been skewered himself. The worship around him went on as if nothing had happened, and the slightest hint of suspicion bloomed in his muddled mind._

**_“Your rage,”_ ** _Carlos continued, **“Is a gift from the HIGHEST OF HIGHS. Your devotion to the Dark Carnival must be SECOND TO NONE. How can you serve the Messiahs if you are DROOLIN’ OUT THE SIDE OF YOUR MOUTH LIKE A WIGGLER WHAT GONE AND SHAT ITSELF?!”**_

_Indignation prickled in the back of Gamzee’s throat, and his eyes narrowed. “Hey now, that’s goin’ too far, take it back right quick-”_

**_“I TAKE BACK NONE OF MY WRATHFUL TRUTHS, LITTLE MIRTHFUL. Not a one. Once they been said, they be set down in stone what can’t be weathered.”_ ** _He leaned forward until he was over Gamzee, which was a feat, seeing as the young Lord was already quite tall. **“How do you expect to LEAD THIS MOROSE MOSHPIT OF MOTHERFUCKERS if y’all don’t even OFFER THE SACREMENT OF RAGE ITS PROPER DUE?”** There was a pause, and Carlos leaned back. His strange voice softened. **“What’s got you lockin’ away your hatchright, brother? What keeps you from bein’ leader of the Big Top like you should?”**_

_It was as if something had pierced through the sludgy sopor in Gamzee’s system, and he took a moment to consider Carlos’s words. What_ did _keep him dependant? Grief over a chica what wasn’t kickin’? Fear of the unknown that lurked in the depths of his self? How did he look in the eyes of his fellows, drowning himself in sopor and Elixir without a care? Not like a leader, that was for sure._

_The young Lord eyed the flask in his hand, running a thumb over the inscribed letters. “Maybe,” He said slowly, “You all up and got a point, bro.”_

_He sensed Carlos’s smile. **“’N maybe you ain’t as pan-fried as I thought.”**_

~*~

The cremation of Lord Zahhak was accompanied by chilling wind and snow that found its way into every crack and crevice. As morbid as it was, those in attendance huddled together around his pyre for warmth, respect the only thing keeping them outside. By the time the troll had been reduced to ashes and gathered in an urn to be placed with his compatriots, the snow had picked up enough to leave an inch in its wake, and showed no signs of slowing. With grumbles and groans the soldiers tromped down the mountain and back into town, while the nobles trailed slowly behind to their quarters.

At some point in the walk, Dirk pushed his way to Jane’s side to hold her hand.For three days the snow continued without pause, blanketing the Scratchlands in a heavy layer of icy white. With visibility severely hampered, drills for the troops ceased and the town shut its doors. Businesses lay dark, schools sat empty, and the post built up out of sight and out of mind. Without the post, very little official work could be done; this was how Prospit and Derse had been run ever since this war with the Beforans began. By the evening of the second day, two kingdoms’ worth of ordinances and peculiarities had been filled out, signed, stamped and triple checked by every noble and royal out of sheer boredom – and when young adults retreat to work for amusement, there is a surefire problem.

This was why, as supper on the third night dwindled down, Jane leaned over to Dirk and glanced at the glum, drawn faces of her peers. “Let’s tell them,” She said, her voice barely a whisper. Dirk perked up immediately.

“Now?”

“We might as well.” Jane gave him a wan smile. “I don’t want to, but we have to before it’s too late. Right?”

He squeezed her hand under the table. “I could do it. They expect shit like this from me-”

She shook her head once. “Dirk, no. I’ve got to do it.” By now some of the others had noticed their hushed tones and looked at them with questioning eyes. Jane met them with her own, and cleared her throat as she stood.

“Erm, might I have everyone’s attention please? Just for a moment?”

Utensils that lingered in languid fingers were placed down, glasses halted mid-sip, and a deathly quiet filled the throne room. Jane took a deep breath.

“First, I would…like to thank you all, for everything you’ve done so far. Your past and future service to our peoples does nothing but ensure a victorious and peaceful end, and that is worth more than any reward on earth. That being said, um…” She swallowed, eyes flitting down to the table. “I want to…apologize in advance. For what’s been done, I mean. You don’t know it – though you will soon – but there have been unforeseen consequences of this war that could serve to put us all in great jeopardy.”

Every back that was slouched straightened, every expression turned grim, and Dirk let out a long-suffering sigh. “Cripes, I think I just heard everyone’s assholes clench. It’s not – well, it’s bad, but it’s not end of the goddamn world bad, Jane, tone it down.”

Jane took a moment to breathe, quelling the urge to bristle at Dirk’s words. How dare he be so flippant about the whole thing! Especially when he knew how serious it was! But she could not afford to lose her temper. She had to present a strong front here. She was Queen, after all.

“It’s kind of worse to hear that you acknowledge this whatever-it-is as bad, Bro,” Dave said, rubbing his eyes under his spectacles. “I’d be put at ease if you had said, oh, no, it’s not that bad at all Jane, you’re exaggerating. You’re spreading more falsehoods than farmers telling stories about how Johnny Appleseed impregnanted their daughters with bushels of apples. Give the gentle listeners a break, goddamn, like, this would be a great intro for telling ghost stories but not for getting down to business-”

The table creaked ominously as Dirk leaned over the edge, a hard frown on his face. “Dave,” He said, “Stop.”

Dave threw up his hands. “Okay, alright, fine! I can’t help it, you know that. I’m nervous now! Asshole’s firmly clenched just like you…” Dave trailed off as Dirk’s gaze did not recede, and he lowered his hands in defeat. “…Aiight. Okay. I’ll cut it out. Take the floor, Your Grace. Sorry for the speechbomb.”

 Silence fell once more, the air thick with the anxiousness of the others. Jane swallowed hard. “Dirk and I…have been compromised. In a way. It’s moreso my burden to…erm, to bear, and not his, but we’ve both been affected. During the Battle of Space, we were…engaged in…certain acts. Against out wills, such as what I’ve heard happened on the mountain under the influence of Porrim Maryam. Therefore, I can’t assume the incidents aren’t related. We were coerced to the point where I…I stand before you…with child.”

If possible, the silence that followed Jane’s declaration was the longest she had yet to stand through. Trolls and humans alike looked at her with wide eyes and blank expressions, as if the words had yet to fully settle through their brains.

Then, Gamzee coughed. “Uh, not to be rudelike or nothin’,” He said, “But you ain’t got no human wigglers with you right now, Little Princess, so I’m bein’ way confused-”

Karkat smacked Gamzee upside the head, but lightly, so the clown’s cranium barely bobbled. He whimpered anyway. “ _God_ , you gaseous _bilgereek_ ,” Karkat groaned, “Do you not attempt to schoolfeed yourself about humans and the basics of how they work? Like – the fucking _basics_ at least!” (He must have been agitated, not to think of some creative way to explain it.) “Humans ‘with child’ are growing wigglers _in_ their bodies!!”

The other Trolls in the room immediately grimaced, but the humans were still impassive, glancing to each other now.

“Is this a joke?” John asked. “It seems like it would be a good one, I mean, it’s set up well, but nobody’s laughing. I’m pretty sure that makes it a bad joke.”

“Janey, you can’t tease us like that,” Roxy said. For the first time in years, her words did not come out in a slurred, tripped mess. “It’s so mean! And _scary_ , like _wow_ , seriously? Babies in a war zone? That’s Bad News with capitols and everything!”

“It’s a touch more troubling than that,” Rose said, her eyes narrowing, “That kind of situation in this political climate…it’s not good foreign relations-”

“Forget foreign stuff, what about what’s going on inside the borders?!” Jade exclaimed, “If people hear that the Beforans were able to mess around with a King and Queen, who knows what could happen?!?”

Jake made a distressed noise, bamboozlement clear on his features. One moment he scratched his head in thought, then he squinted at Jane as if he could draw the truth out of her that way, and then he glared at Dirk as if he desperately needed his pistols. Jake cycled through these three things until no one could read him. The only one who remained silent was Dave – silent and still, observing his brother with practiced indifference.

Jane bowed her head, a shameful blush creeping onto her cheeks. Her hands, clasped in front of her, tightened their grip until her knuckles turned white. “It’s not a joke,” She said, her voice thin, “It’s the truth. I’ve…had a test done. I’ve investigated all possibilities. This is the only thing that’s left, and – and I’m going through with it.” Her breath hitched when she felt Dirk’s hand fall on hers, his touch light and firm. “… _We_ …are going through with it.”

By now, the humans had matched the grimaces of their Troll companions, realization sinking in. Some sat back in their chairs, eyes misty in thought of the Battle of Space. Others ran hands through their hair and sighed, racking their brains with all the consequences that now lay heavy on their shoulders.

“…Are you sure it’s not like…some kind of weird abomination baby?” John asked. “I mean, if it happened under…under rainbow drinker influence, isn’t there the possibility of it being a strange demon beast that’ll burst out of your chest or something?”

Kanaya wrinkled her nose. “I can assure you that rainbow drinkers would have nothing to do with any offspring conceived during such matters,” She said. “I’m hurt, John, and I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty. I am genuinely hurt!”

He held his hands up in defense. “Okay, sheesh! Sorry, it’s just a suggestion…”

But was it outside the realm of possibility? How could Kanaya be sure? That was what Jane wondered. Never had she thought she carried anything more than a baby, and her stomach twinged with flickering Life. Dirk tightened his grip.

“Whatever it is, it is,” He said, “And we’re going to see its life through to the end, whether it’s hellspawn or heir. Backing out is too great a risk.”

“Kinda sounds like going forw-ward is too much of a risk, too,” Eridan said. As the first Troll to comment seriously about the issue, he drew many stares. “I mean, this ain’t like a pail, you don’t ship it off an’ pretend it newer happened. W-What makes backin’ out such a bad idea?”

There was a long pause. Dirk took a deep breath, letting go of Jane’s hand and standing up from the table. He began to walk around it with slow, measured steps. “Pyrope,” He said, “Could you tell me something?”

Terezi raised an eyebrow, her stare blank and unyielding. “That depends on what needs telling, Your Majesty.”

“It’s probably in your realm of expertise. You’ve had access to Dersite court records since we’ve been in metaphorical cahoots as allies, yes?”

“Why of course.”

“Would you be able to recall one if I asked you about it?”

“I could recite it verbatim from memory if need be.”

“And the laws,” He continued, “Before and after the fall of the Cherubim?”

“That’s like taking candy from a wiggler.” She turned around as Dirk stopped behind her chair, razor grin at the ready. “I have a notion as to where you may be going with this, Dirk. You really don’t have to make it so dramatic, I can just tell them outright.”

He smirked. “It’s more fun this way. Don’t you agree?”

“Heheh! Definitely!”

It was that laugh that should have warned those with doubts. Instead, the chills that traveled down their spines were shrugged off.

“Tell me the Law of the Deceased under Caliborn’s rule, clause 612-T.”

“ _No cadaver shall be exhumed or examined beyond preliminary determination for cause of death_ ,” Terezi rattled, “ _Nor are invasive dissections allowed. To do so is itself punishable by death_.”

Dirk nodded once. “Let that sink into your brains for a minute. For generations, no one has been allowed to study human or troll innards without being axed themselves. No medical studies. No anatomical studies. Evaluations could only be made from external observations.”

“It’s been the same in Prospit,” Terezi added, “And it was one of the few laws where Madam Calliope was quite harsh. It must have had something to do with looking for the bodies of our past selves.”

“Everything’s different now, of course, but getting people to overcome any fears and superstitions they might have about checking out dead bodies – unless you’re Lady Megido over there – is not as easy as changing a law.” Dirk began his walk once again, barely registering the bashful, prideful smile Aradia wore as he passed. “Generating more knowledge about how bodies work should be easy now. But it’s not. It’s slow and tedious and we suffer for the ignorance.” He turned to Terezi once more. “Tell me about Case 1025 in the Dersite Court. Happened…about half a sweep ago, I think.”

Terezi launched into the tale immediately. “There was a string of murders for some time, afflicting young human women in the most affluent districts of Derse’s capitol. The killer had most unusual tactics! Though they were all young ladies in possession of wealth and finery, never were their jewels or purses missing, or their furs mussed. In fact, it could be said that this person had no interest in their money at all! Highly unusual for the profiles of the victims. A thorough investigation by legislacerators found that there was one more thing that tied them all together!”

She paused, looking gleefully at the now enraptured court. Only Jane kept her head down.

“All of the victims,” Terezi said, “Had been in the early stages of pregnancy!”

Dirk cleared his throat as the trolls’ expressions turned to confusion. “They were the victims of botched abortions,” He said, looking pointedly at Eridan, who paled under his gaze, his fins flattening. “Or, as you put it, ‘backing out’.”

“After determining that, it became easy to find the killer,” Terezi said, “Because he was the ladies’ local doctor! He pleaded guilty in court – a pity, it would have made the case so much more interesting if he tried to argue for his innocence – and even explained how horribly every attempt had gone, how each girl had begged him to try, citing their futures as reason to take the risk. Compared to other medical supplies, his instruments of death were extremely crude and had ripped up their insides, causing massive internal bleeding.”

A silence fell over all at the thought. Jane shivered and clenched her hands.

“…Look,” Dirk said, falling back into his walk, “That’s just one case. But I’ve seen a lot of cases and read about plenty in the past of women going to any lengths to ‘back out’. Nine times out of ten, they die. If doctors had the tech they needed to do things right, I’d say go for it. Jane and I wouldn’t be dropping this kind of bomb on your asses. But as it stands, it’s not safe.” When he reached his chair he gestured to those that remained empty. “And we’re not restarting anyone. We’re not playing God. The last thing I want to do is gamble lives with such shitty odds that even the most hardened card sharks wouldn’t bother sparing a cent on it.”

He sat and said no more, and the room fell into an ominous hush. Eyes flitted to empty spaces with guarded expressions, to Jane with the utmost trepidation. She saw none of it. The silence filled her with a cloying dread of what was to come – not far into the future, but of what would be said next, who would speak, how the others would act. It all teetered on a precipice in her mind, and if it fell into the abyss, even Jane did not know what would become of her.

What broke the silence was a cough from John. He had paled considerably, but the smile he struggled to give was sincere.

“Well, um, that’s…it’s a good thing, sort of,” He said, his words slow and careful. “I guess we’ll just…keep it secret between all of us for now? Because, you know, once the people hear about it the whole world will know, and…heh, well, we don’t need any more trouble right away, yeah?”

Nods and murmured agreement rose from the table, and the dread in Jane subsided, pulling her back to stand firmly on the edge of her mind. No matter what misgivings the others harbored, the fact that they agreed to secrecy – the fact that they were still on her side at all, though wearied by months of hardship with the end still a faint glimmer in the distance – was more than enough to give her an inkling of strength. This was just another obstacle, one that they would weather together.

It would have made a poignant moment, if General Karkat Vantas did not choose that same moment to slam his hands on the table.

“ ** _Fuck_** ,” He spat, loud and hoarse, “ ** _Fuck_** me sideways with a **_rusty knife_** coated in **_hissbeast venompiss_**!” His hands went to his hair, grabbing it in fistfuls. “Goddamn shiteating **_bulgeslap_** -”

“You got a problem, Vantas?” Dirk asked. There was a thinly veiled growl in his voice, and he tensed in his seat as if preparing for a mutiny. Who wouldn’t after such a reaction? But it never came. Karkat stood and looked each troll in the eye, his mouth hanging open in appalled shock.

“Twelfth Perigee’s Eve,” He said, “It’s **_two weeks_** away.”

Not even a beat of silence passed before the trolls locked up with looks of pure panic.

“But nobuoy’s decorated!” Feferi exclaimed. “We don’t even have a behemoth leaving!!”

“Do they ewen hawe those for sale still?” Eridan asked.

“Sollux still isn’t awake,” Aradia bemoaned, “We can’t leave him out of the celebration just because he’s unconscious!”

“I forgot it fell in the winter this sweep,” Kanaya said, bringing a thumbnail to her mouth and chewing away, “How could we have forgotten the most important holiday of trollkind?”

“Can we even pull together a celebration this late in the game?” Terezi wondered, “We’re going to look highly ridiculous if we can’t – we’ll be accused of abandoning our own heritage! Our citizens will flock to the Beforans in droves!”

“Oh, shit, I ain’t even all up and thought about that,” Gamzee said, his eyes widening. “We’re gonna be in the deepest of heretical smackdowns if we ain’t got out spirit on!”

The trolls debated like this as the humans looked on, dumbfounded.

“Nice to see they have their priorities lined up in a goddamn row,” Dave said under his breath. He hissed as Rose kicked him under the table.

“They have a point,” She said, “Or have you not been listening? It would do us a world of good in our relations with the people if we went through with a celebration, especially one that seems to drive all other thoughts out of the minds of its participants. It would show a united front between not only our countries, but our species, and a desire to respect and understand each other that could dispel Beforan sentiment. Besides, a reprieve from death and fear will be good for everyone’s morale. Wouldn’t you think?”

“I don’t know, Rose,” Jade said with a grimace, “It just feels weird to think of having a good time with all the bad stuff going on. Besides – this is a troll holiday. Calliope never let us be part of it when we were kids, and we always just…let the others have their fun since.”

Roxy perked up. “That’s one heck of a coinkidink! We never got in on the fun either! You think it’d be good if we did?”

“It might be worth a shot,” Jake said. He turned to Jane and Dirk imploringly. “Come on, what do you think? It’ll get our minds off of the present…erm, kerfluffle. That is, if our fellows don’t mind our hats being thrown into the proverbial ring, eh?”

Jane and Dirk looked to each other, both at a loss. It sounded like an…interesting idea, at least, and altogether strange. But what harm could a little cheer do in such gloom?

It took about a day for the humans to pitch their idea to their troll friends, and by then the entire staff of castle servants had been mobilized into preparing for this strange, strange holiday. The aforementioned ‘behemoth leavings’ were actually great big pine trees, pulled up and transported inside into large basins of water, dirt still dangling from their roots. Strings of shells that grubs had once molted were hung on its branches and fitted with special lights that allowed them to glow, creating a rainbow haze around the tree, and the trolls were quick to fill in the empty spaces with trinkets and trappings, bows and glittering things and whatever else they deigned appropriate to hang. Everyone could tell whose handiwork was whose; Terezi’s dragons dangled by thread nooses, glass blown into cuttlefish had been hung by Feferi, Eridan’s baubles were gaudy and golden, brassy antique cogs were artfully added by Aradia, Karkat hung ridiculous crab figurines in silly outfits, and Gamzee made little dolls of straw and cotton, painstakingly painting each one to have a unique and cheery clown’s face. The throne room’s tree was the most magnificent by far, for everyone had pitched in to bring it to life, even the humans. Smuppets and sweets, knitted kitties, crude paper cutouts with glitter and paint and goofy cloth ghosts, skulls of various creatures and flowers crafted from whatever was at hand – all this joined the rest. It looked…pretty, in the way that only an eclectic collection could, for it was brightly colored and arranged with care, and on no branch did one theme outshine another.

There were other things too, of course, strings of prickly garland and all sorts of tacky coverings for seats and tables. The outside of the castle was decorated by the workmen, who were up on the roof anyway, beginning the finishing touches on the second floor of the castle. Once the walls dripped with color, the people in town seemed to come to life, decorating their homes to match. It was as if they too had forgotten of the Twelfth Perigee, and only by seeing their leaders preparing reminded them.

The humans were given a very brief explanation of the holiday’s customs by their troll peers – history could be explained later, they said. Decorating in a gaudy and ridiculous way was only part of the tradition; there was also good, comforting food to prepare, and the exchange of gifts was essential. They could not be superfluous gifts, but useful and necessary ones, and the Eve was to be spent giving and receving with friends and family, reveling in the time they had together and wishing warmth and happiness all around. It was a very strange holiday by troll standards, whose art and culture mostly consisted of brutal acts and harsh realities. Perhaps the holiday was what it was to combat that, to give everyone at least one day of rest and cheer without the tension of everyday life. Either way, it seemed like a good respite from the weary, grim reality they faced.

It was quickly decided that, as far as gifts were concerned, it would be a ridiculous undertaking for everyone to get something for everyone else, and soon enough a hat was produced from who knows where, and names were quickly written on folded slips of paper and jumbled up with an expert flip of General Vantas’s wrist.

“You only get to pick more than once if you get your own name,” He said as they sat around the throne room table once more, “So just let me know if that-”

As he passed Dirk, the young King stuck his hand unceremoniously into the hat and rustled the contents obnoxiously. Karkat stopped in his tracks and leveled a blank stare at him.

“Can I help you?”

Dirk did not answer until he plucked a paper from the hat, opening it and narrowing his eyes. He dropped the paper back into the hat. “Yeah, you could offer me a paper that doesn’t have my name on it. Lemme try again.” His hand dove into the hat again, and he made a show of picking another slip. When he opened it up, he rolled his eyes. “Okay. What are the chances of picking myself twice in a row?”

“Astronomically impossible,” Karkat said with a frown. “Are you trying to pull something? An attempt at injecting your shitty human irony into a situation that would be phenomenally better if you kept it lightyears because of its rank taint?”

“This has jack all to do with irony,” Dirk said, “And if you honestly thought that’s what I was going for, I’m shocked and offended.” He looked anything but shocked and offended. “I don’t want to get myself a present and look like an ass. Let me try again.”

And so try he did, thrice more, until he opened a scrap of paper and nodded as Karkat looked on with strained patience.

Surprisingly, the rest of the names were picked with little trouble. Jane found it interesting to watch every face scrunch in concentration as the others racked their brains for what sort of useful gifts to give. As for her, she read the name on her paper – a name that was for her eyes only. Finding a good gift would not be a struggle, but a mystery that would keep her mind occupied and bring about a satisfying resolution.

Who did she get? Even omniscience can’t say, not until Twelfth Perigee’s Eve. After all, a secret gift exchange is supposed to stay secret.

~*~

With a holiday just around the corner and good cheer thick in the air, one would think it was impossible not to enjoy it. Happiness should be infectious during this time of the year, laughter and smiles its rampant symptoms. There are some folks, however, who catch a different kind of bug for one reason or another: a humbug.

Never in his life had Gamzee experienced the advent of a Twelfth Perigee’s Eve with such little excitement. The usual buzz of activity, the colors and sounds, all of it always succeeded in making him appreciate the bizarre miracles of peace and good will, but this year…it wasn’t there. He made his clown effigies for decorations like always, but their smiles weren’t as bright. He roasted nuts and crickets in ovens and glazed them with honey, but no mouthful was sweet enough. He walked through the streets of town to see the window displays of troll shopkeepers decked out with their wares, but nothing made him press his nose to the glass in awe. It was as if someone had sucked the holiday dry of its appeal, and then hollowed him out next.

His lack of enthusiasm hadn’t gone unnoticed. The night before the Eve, when all others had gone asleep, Gamzee laid out in the grass corridor beneath the empty picture frame. The corridor was frigid, but he didn’t mind; the cold helped him feel numb, and he needed the numbness. Still, the crunch of grass under footfalls did not escape his awareness.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?”

Lazy eyes flickered up to see Karkat standing over his form. His usual scowl was deep and troubled. Gamzee tried to smile for him.

“Chillaxin’, Karbro. You want in on this?”

Karkat huffed. “It’s cold enough to freeze piss, dipshit, I don’t want to jam with you in here. I’d take your ludicrous horn pile over this any day.”

Gamzee’s brow furrowed, and he sat up. “We’re havin’ a feelings jam? Whoa, since when?”

Karkat crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Since right now – no, scratch that. Since days ago, because you really need it. You’ve been moping like a sad sack lately and it’s really, really unsettling. Like warped carnival music playing in the background while you walk through a labyrinth of dimly lit hallways and feel someone breathing down the back of your neck unsettling.” He paused, his cheeks dusting red. “It shouldn’t be like that, but…for you, it…it is, okay? For me it is. For you. Fuck, for something, I don’t know…”

A tender plume rose through the pitch gloom in Gamzee’s chest, as it always did when Karkat rambled himself into a spiral. He reached a hand out towards his moirail, and after a moment, it was taken. He tugged gently downwards, and Karkat relented, kneeling on the cold grass.

“I’m okay,” Gamzee said. He paused, breathed slowly in, slowly out. “Sortin’ myself around up and downways is all.”

“I have no clue what in horngrinding hell that even means.”

Another slow breath. How could he explain this malaise that hung around him? The Mirthful had no righteous metaphors for depression. “I’m kickin’ sopor to the curb,” Gamzee said at last. Karkat’s eyes widened, a luminous red in the dark. “Not one wicked drop’s gone past my lips for…a week? Shit, man, I don’t know. Time’s all fucked up in my pan, like it’s fallin’ through some bigass hole what got made by the sopor eatin’ through. Makes it all kinds of hard for a motherfucker to smile. But I’ve been takin’ smaller and smaller swallows for a while now. Figured I’d get the shakes, but not a real down, you know?”

“You actually quit?” Karkat asked. “Cold gobblebeast?”

“Cold gobblebeast.”

The General sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “ _Great_. You decided on the happiest time of the sweep to experience the wonderful nightmare of soporific withdrawal. Is this my present? Did you pick my name from the hat and decide going clean would be the best thing you could give?”

Gamzee gave a hoarse chuckle. “I ain’t picked you outta no hats, Karbro, I swear on all my horns. The ones on my head, too.” He pointed lazily to them with a funny smile. “Ain’t forgot about them. But I didn’t do the quittin’ for nobody but my own motherfuckin’ self. You all up and forgettin’ what goes and happens every monthlike now?”

“…The Ides,” Karkat said. His expression soured. “That’s right. The Battle of Rage is next. So…you don’t want to be drugged when you go out there.”

“I gotta be all I can be, my palest of bros,” Gamzee explained. “I ain’t down for death, not yet. If it’s a Makara I gotta cross clubs with on that mountain, Rage needs to flow free. Sopor’s a miracle in itself, but it plugs up what needs lettin’ free, and if I don’t have it, I’ll be leavin’ you.” For a moment, his eyes flashed. “I ain’t down for that at all.”

At that, Karkat bowed his head and clasped Gamzee’s hand between his own. He made no sound, no indication of what he felt, but his grasp was emotion enough.

“This is like a set-up for a B-rated pale porno, you know that.”

“Shit, man, only B? I thought that’d be an A for sure…”

Karkat snorted and let go of Gamzee’s head. “God, you’re a pitiful sack of a troll. Can’t even bring yourself to go to your moirail when you’re curbing addiction.” The pair locked eyes. “Tell me next time, asshole. Okay?”

Gamzee nodded once. A small trickle of happiness wormed through his melancholy, warm and bright red like Karkat himself, and he did his best to nestle it in a corner of his thinkpan that didn’t feel rotted out and barren. “Okie dokie, then.”

It was a promise that got Karkat to stand again. It got him to pull his gangly moirail off the ground and guide him up to his tower, to sleep the night away and await the anticipated morn. It did not promise a change in Gamzee’s attitude, but something else, something small that words could not describe.

~*~

The dress wouldn’t button.

She tried laying down. She tried sucking in her stomach. She dared not try pulling the fabric too hard – the dress was made of thin material and meant to cling, and if Jane tore it she would be very upset indeed. It was one of her nicer outfits that she hadn’t worn since last winter, red with cyan beads sewn along the hems with golden thread, and she had laid it out the night before thinking of how lovely it would be to dress up for this Twelfth Perigee’s Eve. After all, to look one’s best showed a measure of respect, and even if most of the celebration was meant to be private, she still wanted the trolls of their number to know she thought well of their holiday.

And yet the damned thing wouldn’t button!!

As her family slept in the loft above, Jane flushed with frustration and embarrassment as she took off the dress. Surely it was a fluke, right? Her…condition…was barely noticeable if you simply looked at her. It was just a fluke, and nothing more, _right?_

“…Oh, geeze.” Jane paused at her wardrobe, a hand resting idly on her stomach. “Relax, Jane. It’s okay. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine, not in her head at least. What was she doing, trying to fool herself? Cuts of cloth couldn’t lie. She pulled a looser dress out with a frown, an outfit comprised mostly of drab browns and greens, and dressed in gloomy silence. By the time she was finished, John and Jade were stirring in the loft, and Jake was soon to follow. It was still early, but it seemed that the excitement of a day of celebration was enough to wake anyone.

Jane waited for her family to dress before they set out for the castle. A new, sparkling layer of snow had fallen in the night, and the lingering clouds above made one wonder if there would be more to come. It was far too cold and far too early to play, so the four walked close together and hurried to the castle doors. Inside it was already heavenly warm, for every grate in the lower levels had been lit in preparation and cast iron pots of hot coals had been placed at every drafty corner of the throne room. Breakfast had been laid out on the table, everything covered with gleaming lids, and the trolls were already present. They sat together by the behemoth leaving, all in their pajamas, yawning and eyeing their human friends blearily. Jane pushed her concerns away to greet them with a curtsy and a smile.

“We’re not late to the festivities, are we?” She asked. Even from across the room, she could see Karkat roll his eyes.

“There’s no such thing as late on Twelfth Perigee’s Eve,” He said, “Unless you’re expecting to celebrate tomorrow. Then you’d be late.”

The Prospitians approached and joined their friends on the floor. “Where’s everyone else?” Jade asked.

“They have been coming in and out of the castle since we arrived,” Kanaya explained. “I know Dirk is…well, I can’t exactly say.” She smiled and brought a hand to her mouth. “It would ruin his gift. As for the rest, I’m not sure where they have gone off to.”

Jane’s brow furrowed. What in the world could Dirk be up to that Kanaya knew? These gifts were supposed to be secret. Did he need to collaborate with her on something?

Feferi fidgeted where she sat, pulling Eridan’s cloak around her shoulders. “The grubbuns are gonna get cold if they don’t hurry up! Cold grubbuns are the worst!”

“Fef, w-we got coals for a reason,” Eridan said. She pouted.

“They’re not the same just heated up…”

“We can’t just eat something now?” John asked. He tentatively rose to his feet and made to the table. “It’s not like anyone’s gonna notice if you take a bun, Feferi.”

The troll shook her head. “It’s rude to eat without everyone here,” She said woefully, “And this is your guys’ first Twelfth Perigee! Well, not the FIRST first one, just the first you’re celebubblerating with us.” She looked to the other trolls. “We want it to be special and perfect. Right?”

Feferi was met with shrugs and reluctant nods, and she pouted once more. It was a bit comical, all things considered, and John sat down again with a smile and a roll of his eyes. What could be done? It was a troll holiday – let the trolls make the rules.

One by one, the royalty of Derse finally made their appearance, the last being Dirk. He waved to the others as he approached, rubbing an eye under his spectacles, and the moment he sat with the group the trolls dragged their human friends to the table and made haste in uncovering all the dishes it held. There were jam tarts with whipped cream, dishes of rice pudding garnished with cinnamon, loaves of sweet bread baked over coals; there were all manner of beetles candied in honey and nuts, fish dried and smoked and rubbed with spices so strange their flavors were indescribable in the common tongue, thin cuts of meat barely seared and rolled with pungent cheeses and so much more. There were pitchers of milk and kettles of tea, pots of coffee and steaming mugs of spiced apple cider. And yes, Feferi got her grubbuns, tiny and moist and still hot from the oven. It really was a strange blend of delicacies, but everyone tried a bit of everything, even over the species divide…except the honey-nut beetles. But, then again, beetles are an acquired taste, and the squeamish cannot be blamed for being wary of antennae and spindly legs, even if they glistened with sweetness and were accompanied by crushed hazelnuts and almonds.

After everyone had gotten the chance to nibble on this and that, the trolls gradually gravitated to the behemoth leaving. Underneath, as instructed, every present had been placed and wrapped in ridiculous, gaudy paper and glimmering ribbons. The paper was the blood color of the gift’s recipient, and the ribbon was the blood color of the giver. Seeing as the humans did not share such distinctions, the trolls allowed them to use their favorite colors instead. The results were garish and clashing, yes, but it suited the colorful holiday quite well, as if they were mere adornments of the celebration.

But there were four boxes under the tree that were different, bittersweet even. They were empty, Jane knew, and tied with many ribbons, one for each of their colors. The paper, however indicated that no one would be opening them. One was a caramel orange, another olive green, one cerulean and one a navy blue.

It wasn’t a custom for any gift, much less a memorial, be laid out for this holiday. Jane had thought of it the afternoon before, and with enough back and forth to drive a body to frustrated tedium she finally convinced the others that something should be present for their fallen friends. Originally she’d wanted something for Sollux, too, but Aradia had been quick to shoot that down. “We’ll get him an actual present when he wakes up,” She had said, and Jane wondered if, perhaps, Aradia hadn’t gotten something for Sollux already and tucked it in beside him in bed. It was something she pictured now as she trailed after the others to the leaving.

Gifts were fallen upon with childish glee, and when a set of hands found a box that was not theirs to open they were handed off to their rightful owner, and soon recipients were seeking out those who had picked their name to thank them for the things they unwrapped. To list off all of the combinations of givers and receivers would be tedious; the only thing that mattered was that each person, human and troll, found themselves pleasantly surprised and satisfied at the thoughtfulness of the others.

As for Jane, she smiled knowingly as a set of horns parted the crowd to make their way towards her. They belonged to Gamzee, and in his arms he held an apron, clean and pressed with not a sign of wear and tear. He smiled right back as he drew close, the cyan ribbon from his present wound around his wrist.

“Well ain’t you all kinds a good to me, Little Princess,” Gamzee said. His arms stretched out for a hug and she accepted. “How did you all up and know my old apron was gone to shit?”

“We bake together, you silly goose! How could I not know?”

He laughed and pulled back to reveal a set of oven mitts from underneath the apron. Jane’s smile grew wider. “And then there’s these motherfuckers! Hot dang! There ain’t bein’ no oven what can burn a fella through ‘em! It’s like you went and appearified the most miraculous of vestments for a warrior of cake-makin’!”

If that wasn’t the silliest thank-you for a gift, Jane didn’t know what was. She patted Gamzee’s shoulders. “I do hope you’ll get many chances to use them,” She said, “Not just now, but after the, ah…upcoming Ides.”

The mention of the next battle seemed to cast a dark shadow over Gamzee’s expression. “I wouldn’t be frettin’ ‘bout that none,” He said, “Gonna promise right here, right now, that I’ll be gettin’ these as used up as my old apron in a sweep or two, I swear it on my bones ‘n bloodpusher.” He paused and looked back to the leaving as the shadow left him, his smile having not yet returned. “I gotta say somethin’ though. I didn’t see no present for you all up and under there, and that makes me one sad motherfucker. How can the little lady what did so good for me not get some good back?”

No present for her? Now that couldn’t be right. There was an even number of participants in this little escapade, wasn’t there? Not that it was crucial she get a present, of course – it would be nice, but not the end of the world. It was just strange, Jane thought, but before she could think on it further, a hand fell on her shoulder.

“I hate to cut in, but I agree with Lord Makara, and I’m the one who’s got to give that good.”

Jane knew it was Dirk before she turned around, but her mouth fell open in surprise regardless. “ _You’re_ my secret gift-giver? _Really?_ ”

There was a sparkle to Dirk’s eyes that Jane hadn’t seen before. “Why do you think I had to pick names out of the hat so many times when we started this thing? If it wasn’t your name, it might as well have been mine.”

Behind her, Gamzee let out a low whistle. “I think that’s what a motherfucker all up and calls bein’ a dirty cheater, Your Highness,” He said. Dirk shrugged.

“You offended enough to behead me or something?”

“Aw, nah, no, I won’t say nothin’ if you don’t want me to.” Gamzee pressed a finger to his lips and began to walk backwards into the crowd. “Consider this secret locked up like ain’t no other secret been kept before…”

Jane sighed as Lord Makara melded into the throng. “He’s awful at keeping secrets,” She said. “Or at least, that’s what Karkat has told me.” Dirk chuckled at that and slid an arm around Jane’s.

“I believe you, but let’s give the guy the benefit of the doubt. C’mon, let’s go see your present.”

“It’s not under the tree?”

“It’s not really ready yet.” Slowly, Dirk led Jane back towards the entrance of the castle. “The thing is, if I’m going to give anybody a gift, it’s got to be perfect. Add the fact that it’s got to be useful, and you have me spending most of my time racking my brains trying to figure out what in the hell could be useful to a Queen.”

She chuckled softly, cuddling closer to Dirk as they stepped outside into the cold morn. “You say that as if I’ve got everything I could ever want.”

“You probably do – you just don’t realize it and won’t ask.” As the doors closed behind them, Dirk moved his arm to sit around her waist to pull her even closer. It was cozy to walk like that, just the two of them in the snow. “But I’m pretty sure you don’t have what I’m getting ready for you. Kanaya’s helping me out, since I’ve…well, you’ll see.”

Ahah! So that’s how Kanaya knew what Dirk was up to. Jane hummed as they went along, pretending to simply accept the fact and not turn it over in her head. What could Kanaya do that Dirk could not?

“So where is this mysterious gift?” Jane asked, “Surely not in Kanaya’s tower, or you’d have brought me there. Is it somewhere outside?”

“Some of it is in Kanaya’s place, actually. But the beginning of it is in my caravan. Like I said, you’ll see.” Was Dirk shaking? Yes – it was subtle, but he shook, Jane could feel it. “Come on, don’t ask me anything else. I know you’re trying to ruin the surprise. Savor the suspense, Jane, it adds to the stew of intrigue I’m cooking up here. Add more than a pinch of clues and the whole thing’s spoiled. Please don’t do that to me, I’ve been working on this recipe so hard as it is.”

“…I suppose I could wait,” Jane said, though truthfully her mind had been hooked onto his analogy. It would be really lovely to have stew to eat, she thought. There was some traditional dinner going on tonight, but surely tomorrow the cooks could make stew? Or she could make stew? She should definitely make stew. A beef stew, maybe, with lots of herbs and vegetables, and _carrots_ , goodness yes, if they can find some this time of year! Even if they’re a bit old she’ll make due-

Jane hadn’t realized she’d said any of that aloud until Dirk started to chuckle. “I’m starting to think I should’ve just cooked for you instead,” He said, and she blushed a brilliant red and pressed her mouth firmly shut, casting the remainder of their walk in silence. When they reached the caravan, Dirk finally let her go to hold the door open and usher her inside.

It was as if the entirety of the caravan had been transformed. Long bolts of fabric lay out on every surface, draped over couches and rolled out along the walls to display their myriad of colorful, intricate patterns. There were delicate linens and heavy brocades, soft wool and crisp cotton, each bearing hues that delighted the eye. There were great big balls of yarn, ribbons and lace, beads and shiny, jingling bits in boxes, spools upon spools of thread and embroidery hoops of every size. Jane’s mouth fell open the longer she looked, turning slowly to take every little bit in. Her eyes finally fell on Dirk when he closed the caravan door, his smile full of pride.

“…Well?” He asked, “Go ahead. Take a guess.”

She couldn’t help but smirk at that and cross her arms in front of her chest. “You’ve got some nerve,” Jane said, “Making a lady guess at her own gift.”

“Yeah, but you’re smart. You probably know already.”

With a good-natured huff she turned back to the dazzling display. “You’re…making something for me. Something out of fabric that involves lots of choices and additives. Judging by the variety, you could be making more than one of these somethings.” Jane hummed and brought a hand to her chin to ponder. “Is it…clothes?”

Fabric rustled behind her, and Dirk came to her side, draping a white sheet of cotton around her shoulders. “See? Told you you’d know.”

Her eyes widened considerably. “ _Really?_ I – that is, I’m _right?_ But…” She shook her head. “Clothes as a gift…I don’t know, I just can’t…it doesn’t seem like your style.”

Dirk was quiet for a moment, holding the sheet in place. He then moved so he could hug her from behind, arms resting just below her bosom. “But you’ll need them,” He said, “Soon. Right?”

And that was when it clicked into place. Dirk had commissioned clothes for her, possibly many sets, and they would be made exactly to her specifications, but all with her pregnancy in mind. She thought back to her lovely, too-tight dress from this morning and let out a shuddery breath.

“Well?” He asked. “Am _I_ right?”

Jane took a moment to let the silence sink into her bones, and then wriggled in Dirk’s hold. “…Yes. Thank you.”

She could feel his mouth turn up into a grin as he pressed it against the crook of her neck. “Anytime. But right now, I’d like you to get to choosing what you want. Dave was throwing a bitch fit this morning about how cluttered it was in here and if we don’t get it all squared away by the evening I think he’s going to launch everything into the far reaches of the cosmos.”

Jane laughed at that, and soon she found herself examining the many bolts of fabric laid before her. Her hands ran over them to test their softness, she compared their colors to the notions at her disposal, and whenever she decided what would be a nightgown and what would be a coat or a dress or even a pair of trousers, Dirk made note of it down to the last detail. Sometimes he would pause and show her sketches of designs that he had thought up with Kanaya, suited to work with her body now and in the future, and they would take inspiration from the sketch, building a piece of clothing bit by bit. It was different and fun in a way she hadn’t expected, and Jane found herself smiling more and more as they went on.

“Wish I could’ve had something ready for you now,” Dirk said as he stowed away another sketch, the margins now full of notes. “Don’t get me wrong, I think that grin of yours means I made the right choice, but it feels weird not having something solid to put in your hands.”

“Maybe it _is_ a little weird,” Jane admitted, “But these ideas and the promise of something blooming from them are…well, I think it’s better. It’s much more sincere, and much more of a surprise.”

“Still feels like an asspull to me.” Gently, Dirk tugged the cotton sheet off of Jane’s shoulders. “You know what? I think I’ll whip up something for you right now. Take your clothes off.”

Immediately her cheeks flushed red. “E-Excuse me?!”

“… _Please_ take your clothes off?”

“ _Why?!?_ ”

“Because I’m going to make you a dress.” Dirk shook the cotton sheet. “Out of this. No pins or thread needed, so it’ll be easy. And besides…” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a wry smile. “We’re alone and committed. It’s not like I’m gonna faint if I see your ankles or some shit like that.”

The way he said it, so casual and flippant, made Jane laugh despite herself. She relaxed and began to unbutton and untie her dress. “You promise?” She asked teasingly. “We don’t really remember…well, you might find yourself fainting regardless. Are you sure you want to take the risk, Your Majesty?”

“No risk, no reward, Your Grace,” He answered, and when she shrugged off her dress he took it to the side and folded it neatly. When he turned back, she had toed off her shoes, and stood before him in her underclothes with bashful, pink cheeks. Dirk paused at the sight, and pushed up his spectacles to rest on his head. He whetted his lips and swallowed. “I’ll, uh…let you know if I come down with a case of the vapors.”

The young King then set to work. He draped the cloth over Jane’s shoulders first, and then he took her hands to hold the cloth in place as he wrapped it around her chest. Next, he took one side of the cloth and brought it around again, covering her back and torso. He tugged at the ends to keep it from puckering and brought Jane’s other hand to hold that in place as he worked on the other side, taking care to tuck it in wherever he could to keep the shape intact. As he neared its end, he brought it around her waist, his fingertips ghosting along the tiny swell of her belly. The touch sent a shiver down Jane’s spine, and she inhaled sharply.

“…It’s weird,” Dirk said suddenly, smoothing the fabric over her stomach, “I know we didn’t mean for things to go this way. I know it’ll end up causing us a whole lot of trouble …but I kind of want to show you off like this.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s weird, right? Don’t tell me random pride in a fuckup isn’t weird, because it is.”

He was being honest with her, brutally honest. Jane found her heart melting at the thought, and she brought a hand to cover his. “Yes. It’s extraordinarily strange. But we’re all extraordinarily strange folks here. Maybe…there’s a part of you that’s happy about this, and that’s where the pride comes from. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

Dirk shook his head. “If there is, I haven’t figured it out yet and it’s fucking bothering me. It’s like an itch in that one tiny spot on my back that I can’t reach no matter how hard I try. But you’re right about that extraordinarily strange thing – we’re all mad as hatters.” He shrugged and straightened, turning his hand so it held Jane’s. “Maybe that’s why I’m proud. I’m a dish of walnuts and there’s no nutcrackers in sight to knock some sense in me. That’s a goddamn tragedy if I ever saw one.”

Jane laughed at that, shaking her head. He was taking it too far for the sake of doing so, she knew that, but her own words seemed to strike a chord in her. “If we weren’t all extraordinarily strange,” She began, “Then how would this play out?”

“What do you mean?”

“If we weren’t who we are.” Slowly, Jane leaned forward to hug Dirk, and after a moment he returned the embrace. “If we were just two people in the great wide world, and happened to be having a child together. No grand obligations, no wars on our backs, just you and I and the future. What kind of life would that be?”

Dirk hummed, low and long. He tugged on the edges of the sheet now wrapped around Jane, as if looking for something to occupy his hands with.

“I think,” He said at last, “We’d head south. Or, well, I’d like to head south. Find a stretch of land that nobody’s got claims on.” Dirk paused and his eyes flickered up to hers. “I’ve kind of always wanted to grow orange trees. They don’t really do well in Derse’s climate unless you really go down south. I’d grow us a whole grove of orange trees, and by the time they’re tall and bearing fruit we could sit the rugrat in their branches.”

“That doesn’t sound bad,” Jane said, “Not bad at all. But would we really just be orange farmers for the rest of our days?”

He shrugged. “We’d do other stuff. I know I’d definitely tinker with some mechanics whenever I got the chance. Build some crazy shit and tell no one about it. But hey, this isn’t just my fantasy, it’s yours too. What would you do?”

She sighed softly. What a question – what _would_ she do?. “I’d probably make sure that ‘rugrat’ of ours grows up into a good person,” Jane said, “And bake, perhaps. Make a bit of fun for myself. Maybe even dabble in a curiosity or two.”

“You’re not gonna be definite? Come on, Jane, you suggested this. Take this imaginary blank slate and go crazy.” The pair swayed slightly in the silence. “Become a private detective. Drag the rugrat and me out to the ocean in the winter when the oranges are all gone and take us sailing to parts unknown. Pie all the rude motherfuckers in the face whenever they give you shit and make the world yours.”

“But I wouldn’t want the world to be mine,” Jane said. She rested her head on Dirk’s shoulder. “I’d just want you and peaceful days.”

It was what she wanted now, but it was pointless to say so. A Queen and King’s peaceful days were few and far between, and even a moment like this was something to be treasured. Jane dared not ask for anything more.

“…Then me and peaceful days it is,” Dirk said at last, and tilted Jane’s head up to brush her lips with his.

~*~

Twelfth Perigee’s Eve left as quickly as it had come, dwindling into a cozy supper and congenial pleasantries. The days afterward felt too cold and barren to inhabit the same season, but thus was winter, and thus two more weeks passed as the Battle of Rage drew ever near. The sparse troops were made to train even as blizzard upon blizzard assaulted the region, trudging through knee-deep snow as they prepared themselves against the Beforan onslaught that waited in the wings. The snow finally broke on the day of the Battle, and as the sun rose, a white glare unlike any other pierced the eyes of all who marched. Even Dirk and Dave, who were never without their shaded spectacles, had to shield themselves from the snow.

The cold could be tolerated. Sight inhibited by blinding pain? Not so much.

Lord Makara had been placed at the front of the march – or, rather, he had pushed his way there and emitted a low growl at anyone who asked if he’d rather hang back with the troops and keep his eyes shaded. At his side hung a metal club that gleamed nearly as bright as the snow, and though is must have weighed as much as an extra limb and dragged behind him with every step, never did he seem inhibited.

“Is he okay?” Jane asked Karkat as the General pushed his way forward. The troll grunted.

“He’s fine. Just…cranky.”

“I didn’t realize Gamzee and cranky were two things that could ever go together.”

Karkat wobbled as he took another step; the snow seemed to have drifted deeper in this area. “Yeah, well, you’d be a raging fucktart too if you had a steadily-worsening itch that you refused to scratch. It’s getting ridiculous though, he snarls whenever somebody breathes funny.” He begrudgingly took Jane’s hand when she offered it to him, steadying himself through her hold. “I will be so fucking glad when this is over, I’ll be shitting rainbows and pots of gold for weeks.”

Whether or not Karkat’s colorful words were simply metaphor, Jane could taste her General’s own frustrations underneath them, and she hoped that all would end well for him and his moirail.

There was a single figure waiting for them at the top of the mountain. Only their horns could be seen, long and curved as Gamzee’s were, for the rest of them had been shrouded in an indigo cloak. The Beforan – for it could be no one else – was almost monklike, for even their hands were brought together and the sleeves pulled down to obscure them. Anyone would be intimidated by such a sight, but for Gamzee it seemed to have an otherworldy affect. He stopped just as he reached the foot of the peak and did not budge, made no sound and drew no breath. It was as if time had completely stopped for him in that very spot, his attention rooted to the Beforan, and not even the bitter winter wind could ruffle his hair.

Slowly, almost unnoticeably, the Beforan withdrew a hand and extended it welcomingly to Gamzee. Two blots of indigo glowed from beneath his hood, and immediately Gamzee reached for his club.

“You none-sense-makin’ insecure mother _fucker_!!” He snarled, “Don’t you _dare_ go and drop a good-to-be-meetin’ like we’re brothers in faith! No brother of mine threatens my people…” He drew in a deep breath, and even the villagers in the town below heard him say, “NO BROTHER OF MINE UP AND SIDES WITH THEM WHO TRY STEALIN’ AWAY ALL WHAT’S MIRACULOUS TO ME!!”

Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd. What was Lord Makara talking about? The Beforan hadn’t said a word, yet Gamzee went on as if he’d been answered, approaching his opponent with slow, measured steps.

“Yeah, I figured your name wasn’t _Carlos_ ,” He continued, “Figured it the moment I saw your _sanctimonious ass_. You all must think I’d up and roll over dead once you came to town…” He paused just yards away from the Beforan and let his grip slacken on his club, until it merely dangled from the tips of his fingers. “WELL Y’ALL DONE THOUGHT WRONG ** _._** I’ve been lookin’ into the hole in my pan, see. THE HOLE I SO HAPPILY BURNT. And the truth I see now is your MAIMED AND EVISCERATED HUSK WHAT’LL MAKE THIS MOUNTAIN RUN LIKE THE INSIDES OF BLUEBERRY PIE!!”

The threat, graphic enough to make the more squeamish of the troops gag, only prompted the Beforan Makara to reach up and unbutton the straps that kept his hood around his horns. Without their support it fell back, revealing a sight that made the troops recoil in fright. The Beforan looked so much like Gamzee and yet so not, his face gaunter and cheekbones more pronounced, his pristine face paint mimicking the contours of his very skull with frightening accuracy and his hair bigger, wilder, more matted than anything they’d seen – but the worst thing was his mouth. Some deft hand had sewn it shut with wire, and around the punctured skin there were clumps of dried blood, as if he had forgotten what had been done and had tried to speak, only to tear his lips open. His milky eyes glowed indigo once more, and Gamzee let out a horrible shriek of Rage.

All at once the fight began, the two trolls at each other faster than any before. The Beforan Makara pulled a club similar to Gamzee’s from the folds of his cloak and wielded it with the same fluid abandon. The clash of heavy metal upon heavy metal made every heart skip a beat for as far as the Scratchlands stretched, and for the animals of the wild who heard the sound, they cowered and hid in fear as if a monstrous storm lurked on the horizon.

There was no getting used to the sound and sight of Mirthfuls in a fight to the death. It was surprisingly common for the indigo caste to come to blows with its members, but very rarely did those blows turn into something like this – there was a reason for the propagation of black and ashen romance, after all. No, this kind of fight was fueled with unbridled emotion, a sickening passion for beating the last ounce of life from an opponent’s body that overrode all else, and as terrifying as it was to witness, none could look away.

First blood was drawn by both trolls with well-aimed swings at each other’s jaw, the crack of bone jolting the impromptu audience nearly out of its skin. Both trolls tottered back, sputtering indigo onto the snow, and both tottered forward once more when they smelled the coppery tang in the air. The blood was the hook, and they the willing fish, drawn to each other again and again.

As it went on, many of the troops looked away, even those with extraordinarily strong stomachs. Every hit was more brutal, every spray of blood more gruesome, and the literally flashing lights of the Beforan’s eyes had quickly given many of the lower castes headaches. Even Karkat had shut his eyes and covered his ears, his face pale with an emotion that was startlingly wrong on him – _terror_.

It didn’t make sense, frankly, nor did Gamzee’s howled profanities and threats. With each one an…aura of sorts seemed to pulse around him, unseen and yet incredibly strong:

“Say that again and I’ll SNAP YOUR HORNS OFF AND JAM ONE DOWN YOUR PROTIEN CHUTE AND THE OTHER WHERE THE SUN DON’T GO SHININ’!!!”

“I am all up and MOTHERFUCKIN’ DONE with your FAUX-PREACHER WAYS and your HERETICAL LIES WHAT BE BEFORUS!!!”

“Gonna lock you up and BITCHSLAP YOU THROUGH THE BARS iff’n you come within GANDERIN’ DISTANCE OF MY BULBS, turn your head into a MOTHERFUCKERIN’ LIMA BEAN AND FLICK IT RIGHT OFF YOUR SHOULDERS, whoop your ass so fast TROLL CHUCK NORRIS’LL BE TAKIN’ LESSONS FROM MY MOVES, _YOU REALLY WANNA TRY ME?!?_ ”

These and more ludicrous outbursts sprung forth from his mouth, stained with frothing blood and becoming more unintelligible with every flicker of the Beforan’s eyes. Was that what made him so mad? Was it a taunt of sorts? If so, why did Gamzee respond as if he’d been insulted first?

Through every broken bone, every new bruise, every drop of blood they fought. The clubs swung as the sun rose to its zenith and crept down to the west. No matter if they watched on or not, no one left or felt that they could leave until this horrible battle came to an end.

A grand spectacle was expected when the end finally did come, the sun grazing the horizon. All of the other battles had been tense and cutthroat, victory only coming on the seat of one’s pants and death intense and frightful. This time, it was quiet. This time, Gamzee raised his club like he had so many times and struck the Beforan at the base of his neck. Only he saw how the Beforan’s eyes constricted in pain, how his mouth jerked to open and his stitching bled anew as he fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes and did not move.

The crowd collectively exhaled, though no one could say when they had all held their breath. The air still felt wrong, and Gamzee, drenched in blood from horn to toe, had not ceased beating the now surely dead Beforan into the snow. With each blow, as more indigo splattered about, tension crept back into the consciousness of the crowd.

“Why isn’t he stopping?” Someone asked. The question circulated amongst the troops with nods and frantic whispers, and all eyes turned to the royals and their courts. All that did was put them on edge.

“He’s going to stop,” Dave mused aloud, “Right? I think even the ground knows that creepy freak from skeleton hell is back _in_ skeleton hell. Like this is some serious overkill. The Beforans are douchebags, but we don’t need to make them unidentifiable by a coroner.”

“It really is a bit much,” Terezi agreed, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’m fairly certain he’s popped some organs, I can smell the acid-” She turned her head sharply and reached out to yank Karkat towards her. “Go pap him out of his bloodlust or we’ll be ice statues by morning.”

The General gave a start at her words, and finally he looked at Gamzee. No one could say that they had ever seen the brash and brazen General Vantas look at anything with the kind of dread that radiated from his person in that moment. “I-I…”

“Go on, you’re the only one who can do it!” Terezi said, and she pushed Karkat forward. He stumbled – again, very unlike him – before he found his balance, and took a moment to breathe as he took in the sight of his moirail in the setting sun. Usually such an image would be portrayed as romantic or dreamlike, described in flowery prose at the climax of a trashy pale novella, but the reality of it sat on Karkat’s shoulders like a bad nightmare, and he made no effort to hide it.

He finally began to approach with caution, his hands held up in peace, shaking as they readied to pap. Gamzee did not seem to hear the crunch of snow at Karkat’s footfalls, fully engrossed in the violence before him. Anything could happen; Karkat’s very touch could set Gamzee into a frenzy or reduce him to an exhausted puddle of pale, or something else could happen.. It was truly up in the air, and that was what made what actually happened so surprising.

It was when Gamzee made to bring his club up. As drenched in blood as he, it was already slippery, and combined with his loose grip it finally flew out of his hands, slamming into Karkat’s middle just as he was only a yard away. There was an “OOPHM” sound as the smaller troll fell back into the snow and wheezed with pain as the heavy club landed beside him.

Jane’s feet moved before her mind could process the gasps of the crowd or Gamzee’s slow realization of a missing weight in his hands. She was at Karkat’s side immediately, kneeling down and pressing her hands to his torso.

“Are you alright?” She asked frantically, “Is anything broken?”

Karkat’s eyes, which had screwed themselves shut from the pain, cracked open at her voice. “Fuck’re – _you_ – doing – here?” He asked. A hand came up to grab her shirt. “Get-away-”

She frowned. “ _General_. I just want to _help_ -”

Her words were cut off by a mounting, throaty growl that made the hair on the back of Jane’s neck stand on end. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a hand reach out to lift the abandoned club.

“The fuck’re you doin’ with your hands all up on my PALEST OF BROTHERS??”

Gamzee’s voice was more bone-chilling up close, and Jane heard the whoosh of air as he lifted the club once more. Again her body moved without thought, hunching over Karkat and bracing for a hit…

…A hit that never came.

There was the lightest of steps and a dull thump, and by the time Jane turned around Gamzee was slumped to the floor, his eyes wide with pain. Dirk stood in his place, the handle of his blade gripped tightly in one hand. Behind his spectacles his eyes burned something terrible, and the cocktail of emotions that brewed within him were a mystery to all.

Only one thing was clear: the Battle of Rage was definitely, finally over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This mainly took over a month to write because I've been having a tough time at work; lots of things need doing, and more often than not I'm the only one who can do them. It's hard, it's wearying, and most nights/weekends I just want to zone out. But it's here, the next chapter, and it's all for you guys. I'm really glad to have it up finally. Now I've got the seadwellers and...some more interesting, unfinished business ahead of me, and that's like the light at the end of the tunnel at this point.
> 
> Enjoy, all.


	15. Contempt

_From the moment he laid eyes on Jake English, Eridan Ampora hated him._

_This was nothing new. Eridan held a certain disdain for humans that his lengthy research into the history of Derse only fueled. Why would he be happy with his status in the world now if he could have been an Empress’s consort in the past, ruling the seas with an iron will and Ahab’s Crosshairs in his grasp? His frustrations and ambitions would mellow with time, but for now he was young and his head was filled with far too much information that a troll of his age should have access to._

_But back to Jake English. He’d been ushered into the library of Derse’s castle on a rainy day by a servant, who stuttered and stumbled as they explained the human’s predicament. “Lord Caliborn would like you to tutor his protégé in Hope,” They had said, “He’s studying as a Page here, but the Lord feels he should take up an Art and be, erm, groomed for lordship…”_

_Eridan had agreed with a frown. No one questioned the desires of Caliborn, but it was admittedly strange, having a troll and human of roughly the same age play as teacher and student. Perhaps it was because, like most of the Arts, there was no older tutor for Hope to guide them, thus making Eridan the chief authority on it. But why Hope, of all things? The Lord held Time in his great claws and two students already, what difference would a third make?_

_The Lord’s reason for his choice, however, was soon made clear. As Eridan begrudgingly pulled out the beginner’s books on Hope, penned down ages ago by his ancestors, Jake looked out the window of the library and sighed. “I do hope it stops raining,” He said, “This place has enough gloom and doom as it is, it doesn’t need any more.”_

_The troll scoffed. “Hopin’ isn’t gonna change the w-weather any more than w-wearin’ your pajamas inside out and w-wishin’ for snow-w,” He said. “Better suck it up and get used to it…”_

_There was more to Eridan’s dismissal than that, but before the words could form on his tongue the thrum of raindrops on the windows ceased, and both turned to see sunlight peeking through the dark, grey clouds. Within minutes the sky was a bright blue, and Jake grinned widely. “Well how d’you like them apples?” He said, “I guess it was just a passing rain!”_

_Maybe it was just a passing rain, but it piqued Eridan’s suspicions. It was too much of a coincidence, that this boy appeared and simply expressed his desire for change, and the world heeded it. As well as Eridan knew Hope in theory, he had never been able to do something like that, and he toyed with a burgeoning desire to throw the beginner’s book in Jake’s stupid smiling mug. How_ dare _this human be better than him at something he’d studied all his life! What insolence! Wasn’t_ he _supposed to be the master here?_

_From that moment on, Eridan tested Jake’s power every chance he got, needling him with pessimism and arrogance. Surely the human would quit if he was presented with things he couldn’t surmount, right? Especially if he was treated poorly! History showed that those treated with contempt were more apt to rebel against that contempt. If he was ornery enough, Jake would leave. It was logical, was it not?_

_This attempt only lasted for half a sweep, during which Jake may not have come through with every task set before him, but he refused to give up, and Eridan was_ tired _. He couldn’t understand what drove this human to such lengths to try, to brim with potential even in his darkest hours. Clearly, in the case of ridding himself from Jake’s company, all hope was lost._

~*~

The Battle of Rage had been won. Gamzee was alive, though for now he slept like the dead, sporting a bump on his head to rival his many bruises, and though Karkat’s ribs had been cracked by his moirail’s wayward club he too was fine, and would be fine, given time to heal. The Beforan Makara’s remains were too battered to examine, but at this point, so long as the Beforans had lost, no one cared whether they were real trolls or not.

As soon as the troops started to leave, Dirk took Jane by the hand and led her down himself. He was gentle, overly so, but his face held no tenderness and he did not speak. Jane tried to talk to him, called his name numerous times and tugged on his hand, but only when they reached his caravan and the door closed behind them did he finally respond.

“What the _fuck_ did you think you were doing?” Dirk asked. His voice was low, and his spectacles caught the dim light of the setting sun, turning orange and opaque. Jane shivered despite herself.

“What do you mean-”

“Don’t even.” His hold on her hand tightened. “Don’t _even_ , Jane. You _know_ what I’m talking about and I am _not_ in the mood for games.”

Jane wanted to say that she wasn’t playing games, but then she noticed how flushed the young King’s face had become, how he trembled. Dirk was angry – no, that wasn’t close to what he was feeling. Dirk was _livid_ , and a lump rose in Jane’s throat as she began to see red herself. “I’m serious, I don’t know what you mean! Have I offended you somehow? Please, tell me, I’m not a mind reader!”

Dirk’s breath came out as a snort and he pulled his hand back. “On the mountain,” He said through gritted teeth, “When you ran between Vantas and Makara like – like a fucking _sacrificial lamb_ , like you didn’t know that shit was as volatile as the Beforans themselves!” He threw his hands up. “Did you have any idea what was happening out there? Do you have any understanding of how dangerous it is to throw yourself in the line of a clown cultist coming down from a bloodlust high?!”

_That’s_ what he was angry about? Jane narrowed her eyes and stood tall, setting her shoulders squarely. She may not have been thinking at the time, but at least now she knew what she was working with. “I _know_ it’s dangerous,” She said, “But Karkat and Gamzee are part of _my_ court, and are, at the end of the day, _my_ responsibility. Prospit will fall on me if word got out that its officials were harming each other-”

“You know damn fucking well it wouldn’t have escalated to that!” Dirk jabbed a finger at Jane, and she pressed her mouth into a thin line as she fought back the urge to flinch. In her mind’s eye she saw him coming at her exactly how he had when they had fought the day the Cherubs were killed: cocky, angry, desperate to hurt, desperate to live. “Vantas knows how to handle himself! That’s his _moirail_ – he wouldn’t of gone out there if he didn’t think he could snap Makara back to his senses!”

“He would’ve gone out there whether he knew he could help or not!” Jane shot back. “That’s how Karkat _is!!_ That’s how _I_ am and how _you_ are when things are at their worst!!! We’ve both acted in desperation when the chips were down, what makes today so different?!?”

There was a pause. Every breath Dirk took made his chest heave, and though his spectacles still obscured his eyes, Jane could feel them on her, piercing and hard. He hadn’t looked at her with such scrutiny since the first time they met. Slowly, he brought a hand up and poked her in the chest; she immediately swatted his hand away.

“Don’t touch-”

“It’s not just _you_ on the line anymore,” He said. His voice rasped as he continued, chilling Jane to the bone. “It’s our future, our _countries’_ future. Even if it _was_ just you, I…did you think I wasn’t _serious?_ All the times I’ve said I don’t want anyone else to die, especially needlessly, and all the shit that’s ahead of us still, with more battles and, and a goddamn _kid_ on the way, and…” Dirk’s hands dropped helplessly. “And you just. You run out there. You run out there and basically expose your neck to a guillotine on a fraying rope and you think I’m not gonna be pissed the fuck off?! You need to _stop_ , Jane, before you go too far, because the second you do, all that we’re doing now is going to be meaningless-”

Something deep down in Jane flared red, and hot fury pumped itself through her body like blood through her veins. She took a step towards Dirk, cutting off his words. “I absolutely _cannot_ sit by and let my friends tear themselves apart!” It was Jane’s turn to poke Dirk’s chest, and he swatted her off much the same. “As much as you are King of Derse, _I_ am Queen of Prospit, and whether you like it or not I take that seriously-”

“Definitely not seriously enough to watch your own ass-”

“ _It’s not about watching my own fucking ass!!!_ ”

The swear seemed to knock Dirk for a loop. He stumbled back, and suddenly his spectacles lost their intimidating glare, his eyes wide with shock behind them. “Jane-”

Hot tears stung her eyes, but she refused to wipe them. Acknowledging their presence would only make her weak. “It has _never_ been about myself!!! Nothing I do is for _me_ , it never _has_ been!!! I have _always_ been at the behest of others whether I wanted to or not, and no matter my condition I will _continue_ to do so to my fullest capacity!!! _It is what a Queen does!!!!!_ ” Quick as a flash Jane turned on her heel, making for the door. “And if you can’t get that through your thick and _selfish_ skull then you can just – just go right ahead and _fuck yourself!!!!!!!_ ”

She threw open the door to the caravan and hurried out into the cold, letting it bang closed behind her as she ran to her own. Dirk did not pursue her. He hadn’t even tried to reach out or call her name.

Before Jane knew it she had climbed up into her caravan’s loft and burrowed deep into the pile of blankets and pillows that awaited her, taking deep breaths of their reassuring scent. Her tears dried up immediately, but the lump in her throat remained, and she curled in on herself, her arms linking under her knees and pulling them towards her. Though still small, the brush of her thighs on her belly gave her a little jolt, and she gradually relaxed her hold on her legs to allow it room.

For a long time, all Jane did was breathe and lay in the pile, her cozy little nook gradually warming to her body as the winter winds rattled the caravan. Any thoughts of Dirk and his words and her own anger were pushed as far away as possible into the recesses of her mind, but no matter what they always resurged, catching onto every lingering inkling she had.

As strong willed as both of them were, Dirk and Jane were not prone to arguments. Their differing views often made for better mental spars than full-blown fights, each learning more about the other while working out their problems as their wits worked themselves sore, whether by tongue or by pen. Even when those disagreements became heated, both of them had been able to remain relatively civil. No, this was their first real fight in years, and its reality sunk into Jane’s bones like a poison, stiffening her body and making it ache.

Her breath caught in her throat when, quite suddenly, the caravan door opened. Had Dirk finally found her, eager to continue the fight? The footsteps that followed were too soft, too unsure, rocking from heel to toe with particular care.

“Jane? Are you in here?”

She lifted her head through a crack in the blankets and looked down. John stood below, peering up at the loft with narrowed eyes that widened upon seeing her face. He made for the ladder.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over the place for you.” John paused halfway up the ladder. “You weren’t taking a nap, were you? I can go-”

Jane sat up slowly, pulling the blankets down to rest in her lap. “No, no, I’m awake. What is it, John?”

Her assurance made John’s body relax, and he climbed up the rest of the way, sitting on the edge of the loft. “Karkat’s been asking for you,” He said, “I told him, it’s probably better if he rests, but he called me an idiotic slugbeast and said that if I didn’t get you before the day was out he was gonna shit miles of ragesnake.”

Jane managed a chuckle. “If he’s feeling well enough to make such claims, I ought to see him before he hurts himself trying to fulfill them, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She sighed and pushed the blankets off. An ornery General Vantas was leagues better than a livid King of Derse. “Well! It’d be rude to keep Karkat waiting any longer. I would rather not see what miles of ragesnake looks like.”

“Me neither. Sounds kind of gross to me.”

“Yes, you did say he’d manage to bring it about through some rather…unsavory means.”

And so they left the caravan, walking side by side in the snow. To keep from jostling Karkat’s injuries, he’d been brought into the Prospit trolls’ caravan and laid up on a bed, and at his fervent insistence despite the misgivings of his peers, Gamzee’s unconscious form was laid up beside him. The General was awake when they entered, red eyes half-lidded from the medicine he’d been given to numb his aches and pains, and under the blankets and his clothes Jane knew his chest had been wrapped quite tightly to let the bones set. Although she had been halfway down the mountain at that point, Jane remembered hearing him vehemently refuse aid from Feferi.

Karkat let out a long sigh when he saw Jane and John. “ _Finally_ ,” he said, and he seemed to twitch as if about to sit up, but he remained still on the bed and frowned sourly. “John, you couldn’t beat a real slugbeast in a race out of a wet paper bag, you know that, right?”

His voice was thin and tired, far too much so. Jane didn’t know how John could laugh in response. “I brought her, didn’t I? And you didn’t expire from sheer anticipation like you said you would, either. I think you might have an exaggeration problem, Karkat.”

The troll grumbled incoherently and lifted a hand to beckon the two to his side. He pierced Jane with a surprisingly fiery glance. “Crocker. I think you have a death wish.”

Ah, now she understood – now Karkat was chewing her out for her actions. Jane frowned, her anger simmering. “What of it?”

A sigh. “There’s not a _what_ about it, more like a _what the fuck_. Throwing yourself in front of Gamzee like that, when you don’t even know…” He paused to take a breath. It was shallow, not nearly enough to fuel the tickertape tirade generating in his mind. “Don’t do that again. None of you humans better do it again. I didn’t know if I could bring him down, what makes you think you could?”

“I couldn’t just sit by and let you be killed!” Jane said. Karkat visibly flinched.

“I know,” He said, and immediately the hot air building up in Jane began to release, just from those two words. “I _know_. The eight of you have that terminal disease called familial bonds, and somehow your cracked pans have snuck tendrils of it around our grey, pasty asses. I’m…grateful for it,” Karkat said, and his gaze shifted to the side as his cheeks reddened. “If somebody was possibly going to beat you or anyone else to death in a pheromone-drunken rage, I wouldn’t think twice about throwing myself into that mess. I guess…that makes my pan cracked, too.”

All was silent after that. General Vantas was _proud_ , he was fury and passion as his blood was red, and never did Jane think he would lower himself to the level of someone he so obviously wanted to reproach, especially when he allowed himself to appear so vulnerable. She half expected him to jump out of bed and proclaim that all he’d revealed was a giant ruse and scream her ear off about safety and foresight, but it never happened. Instead, Queen and General had come to a silent understanding, and with it Jane’s mind was cleared.

The moment was shattered by a woozy, distressed honk.

John jumped beside her, his hands latching onto her arm, and even Karkat managed to move as Gamzee began to stir. His movements were slow, too slow; the tireless doctor that had accompanied them all this time must have given him some sort of pain medication, for the troll was in dire need of it. With each shift of the blanket more bruising and bandages were revealed, and his jaw had been tied up to keep it in place as if he had the mumps, but the strangest thing of all had to be his face. A deft hand had wiped it completely clean, for not a smudge of Gamzee’s usual makeup was anywhere to be seen. Though it was fairly unrecognizable from the bruises and a swollen eye, there was a distinct feeling of taboo to his naked face, as if no one should be allowed to look upon it and live to tell the tale. His mouth opened once, twice, before it let out another pitiful honk.

“Oh, stop it, you melodramatic wiggler.”

One of Karkat’s hands came up to lightly pap Gamzee’s face, and the troll slackened under his palm. Jane felt John’s grip slacken on her arm. The beast of Rage that had taken hold in Gamzee was gone, at least for now.

“…Krrkit?” Gamzee slurred, pulling his hands out from under the covers in search of his moirail. Karkat did his best to sit up properly, shooing away the other troll’s touch. “Krr…Krrl…luss…”

“Shoosh, goddamn it, shoosh,” Karkat said, “It’s fine. You won, and you’re resting now. That douchefuck is long gone. All you’ve got to do now is get better.”

Gamzee shook his head and honked again. This time it was a mournful sound. “No…no…Kur…Kurloz? No Kurloz…?”

Jane and John shared confused glances as Karkat frowned. “I don’t know who the fuck that…wait. Wait a second, was…was that the name of that Beforan you fought?”

Gamzee nodded. “He w’s…w’s all ‘n…talkin’ in m’ head…sayin’ he’d kill all y’all ‘n…how I w’s slow ‘n stupid ‘n I was so mo’fuckin’ mad ‘n…” Big gobs of tears started to drip from his eyes, and he winced as the swollen one was stung by the indigo drops. “’M s’rry…I met ‘im b-back in the caverns…made me wanna clean up ‘n shit…’n then he comes ‘n he’s a bad guy ‘n that _hurts_ , mo’fuckin’ _deep_ in th’ pusher…”

Were he in better spirits Gamzee would have gone on, but even this much talking was too much for him. Every word after that was too slurred to make out, and he eventually flopped back onto the bed and heaved out little honks, his good eye misted over in thought. Karkat had not once stopped papping him.

Jane elbowed John’s side and nudged her head towards the door. He caught on to her meaning immediately, taking her arm again as they backed away. “Uh, hey, Karkat? If that’s all you needed us for, we’re…gonna give you some privacy, okay?”

“Huh? Oh – yeah, sure, whatever.” Karkat waved them off without taking his eyes off of Gamzee, his brow furrowed and his mouth drawn in a tight frown. “Just…take what I said serious. Stop being suicidal, Crocker.”

Jane found herself swallowing hard. “W-Will do…”

The pair left the caravan without looking back, a tingling sensation raking their backs as they fought down the urge to look over their shoulders. What happened now was private, and they had no right to watch, nor did they wish to violate that privacy.

They exchanged words briefly before parting, John ambling back to the castle and Jane slowly walking back to her caravan. He had offered to come with her, but she refused; what she had seen and been told made the thoughts she had pushed away resurface, and this was no time to be around others. Perhaps, Jane thought, she had been too stubborn with Dirk. Perhaps she could have relented, just a bit, for it was obvious that he wasn’t the only person who worried about her actions…but after making such a scene, there was no way she could go and ask his forgiveness now. A small part of her was adamant that she was in the right, no matter how badly she felt, and if she relented today then she would relent for the rest of her life –

A sudden twinge in Jane’s stomach stopped her in her tracks. It was nothing like the twinges before, Life’s flickering anticipation and dread that had flared in tune with her vulnerable thoughts, but something strange and new, like a pinch deep inside of her. She stood just yards from her caravan and rested a hand on her stomach, breathing slow and shallow and…there it was again, a funny wiggling that barely registered, but it was there, and the lump in Jane’s throat became the most painful it had been all day.

~*~

_Lies My Lusus Told Me: Everything Your History Schoolfeeding Got Wrong_

Nope, trash. This one was mostly conspiracy theories for trolls six sweeps old to latch onto and work themselves into a frothing frenzy over. Next…

_Our Homelands: From the Earliest Human Accounts to the Fall of the Cherubim_

No, this one was too recent, it would have a heavier focus on current events than it would the past ones. Next…

_The Rise and Fall of The Batterwitch: A Tale of Cupcakes and Crusades_

“W-Who the fuck ewen _is_ that?! The glubbin’ tagline doesn’t giwe a date range, how-w is anyone supposed to figure out if this thing’s w-worth readin’ or not?!?” With that biting exclamation, the book went sailing over Eridan’s shoulders to join the rest of the tomes he had deemed useless, the pile steadily growing in size. A week had passed since the Battle of Rage, and though some might think him foolish for puttering around a library as his own fight drew ever closer, Eridan could think of no place he’d rather be. After all, what use was fighting their enemy if there was still so much mystery around them? The town’s librarians had all given him a wide berth, for he had not bothered to conceal his identity and already looked grouchy when he walked in the door. Even now, no one had chided him on his blatant disregard for public property. Honestly? He didn’t care. If it wasn’t any use, it didn’t deserve any regard, especially when they were all so short on time.

Eridan continued this even when he heard footfalls approach, one set light and another accompanied by the swish of a cane. He ignored the throat that cleared, and swatted away the cane that prodded his head.

That is, until it thwacked him on the horns.

“ _OW-W!!_ ”

“You really should hush, Lord Ampora. After all, you’re in a library.”

Eridan turned and glared at the pair that had interrupted him, rubbing at his sore horns. It was Rose and Terezi who stood before him, both with tight, drawn faces despite their smiles. He stuck out his tongue.

“Yeah, w-well, you really shouldn’t _assault_ people w-when they’re reaserchin’, _Ter_ ,” He said. “W-what in glubbin’ fuck did you hawe to come all the w-way out here to tell me? Can’t it w-wait?”

“Oh, we’re afraid not, Mister Ampora,” Terezi said. She leaned on her cane to try and lord over him, but the tealblood wasn’t nearly as intimidating as she normally was. It was evident in the scrunch of her face, there were too many thoughts running through her head. “Waiting would prove to be a terrible mistake on our part! We’re trying to defy what cannot be defied, after all. Every second counts!”

Ah, so they had come at last. Eridan huffed and turned back to his books, his eyes glazing over their useless titles. “You’re here to tell me I’m gonna die in the next battle. Right?”

The beat of silence that followed really was priceless. It was too bad he couldn’t bring himself to smile, feeling the flabbergasted gazes of the Seers on his back.

“How did you-” Terezi began, but he held up his hand.

“I figured it out after Gam pulled through,” He said, “Don’t take much of a genius to put a couple pieces together. It’s the trolls w-what been dyin’ in these battles, so of course I’m next.”

“…Pretend for a minute that your assumption is wrong,” Rose said, “That, if you’re simply basing it on the pattern of deaths and the amount of battles remaining, you fail to see something that indicates Jake is to die. What makes you so sure it’s you?”

Eridan heaved a sigh and pushed his books away. “You’re really gonna play dewil’s adwocate here?” He asked. Rose smirked.

“It’s part of my job.”

“Yeah, w-well, I’m not bitin’. Go dangle your bait in front of some other fish.”

He bristled as the Seers kept on, urging him to heed them, asking him to elaborate, but he bit his tongue against the words that formed in his head. It made sense to Eridan Ampora that he should die. This was a Battle of Hope, and his Hope had no chance. As long as he had studied, as hard as he had worked, it could never shine as brilliantly as Jake’s, it could never flow as effortlessly. That’s what they needed, wasn’t it? A complete assurance in Hope, a decisive strike, an unmistakable win for their side – Eridan couldn’t guarantee that. No one could. Jake’s ridiculous optimism and crazy stubborn streak were the only things that came close, so…why bother hoping when the tables were turned against you? He’d be better off submitting to the Beforans and fighting for their side…not that he would. Maybe another time or place would see him take up the enemy’s banner, but not now or here.

Why should he bother explaining himself to Rose and Terezi? They would balk at the first inkling of dissention he admitted to, and he had too much in Derse and Prospit to truly switch sides. No use turning a misunderstanding into a fiasco. He rose from his place in the library with a huff, ignoring the cries of the Seers, and left the place, his mind abuzz with frustration. He stalked through the town and sour gloom hung about him like a bad stench, all the way to the castle and the grass corridor. Only then did he stop, leaning against the door to his tower and breathing hard. Walking from the town to the castle through the icy streets was no easy feat, but he shouldn’t have been so winded. “Fuck,” He wheezed, “Did I start runnin’…? W-What the fuck…”

Eridan slid down until he sat against his door, his fins drooping with his thoughts. There really wasn’t an ounce of hope for him, was there? He’d die, and then someone else would die after him, and it would be over. There was no way getting around it.

Funny how his unconscious kismesis and his lisping penchant for doom could influence him even now.

“There’s no fuckin’ hope,” Eridan muttered, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Might as w-well w-write a w-will…tie up my strings…w-won’t be easy, Sol’s fuckin’ out of it and Fef w-won’t take it w-well and Kar…” He drew his knees up to his chest and ignored the prickling sting in his eyes. “Fuck. Just…fuck it.”

“Fuck what, old chum?”

Oh, great. This was _exactly_ who needed to stumble upon him today.

“Go _aw-way_ , Jake,” Eridan said, curling in on himself further. The human, instead of heeding the request like any sane person would, plunked himself down next to Eridan with a sigh of relief. The troll could feel Jake’s eyes lingering on the top of his head.

“You know, I _could_ go away, but that’s plain unrightly of a fellow, especially when a friend’s so obviously out of sorts.” He put an arm around Eridan’s shoulders, which tensed immediately. “Come now, chap! There’s nothing to be glum about! We’ve got the Beforans on the ropes, and…” He turned away for a moment, but even if Eridan had been looking he still wouldn’t have seen the flicker of concern in Jake’s eyes. “Well, that’s really the best news we could hope for, eh?”

Slowly, methodically, Eridan began to uncurl. He took a long, deep breath, but his shoulders stayed tense. If anything, they seemed to bristle, but Jake kept his arm around them, completely oblivious.

“I _cannot_ …” He began, “Absolutely stand…to hear the w-word ‘hope’ one more _coddamn_ glubbin’ time. I’m sick to _death_ of it…”

Jake’s ever-present smile faded as he took in the troll’s words. “Oh, come on, don’t start talking like that, Eridan-”

“And I’m sick to death of _you!_ ”

The elbow that jabbed Jake in the stomach caught him off-guard, and Eridan scrambled to his feet and slipped into his tower, locking the door behind him. He could hear Jake gasp in pain below, and Eridan chuckled to himself.

He’d always wanted to do that.

~*~

Days before the Battle of Hope, the workmen had been pulled from the castle once again, and through the nights they had chipped away at the packed snow that had formed on the slope of the domed mountain. It was as slippery as straight ice and just as dangerous – the least ideal condition for a march and battle yet – and the last thing anyone needed was an entire army rolling down the mountain at breakneck speed and actually breaking their necks. So, on this cold and cloudy dawn, all marched slowly up the path that had been dug for them. It was much narrower than the usual berth they were accustomed to, and so ranks shuffled together as they made their ascent. Elbows bumped elbows, shoulders rubbed shoulders, and every slight stumble was met with support, for if one person fell, all behind would topple with them.

Jane had never felt so skittish in tight quarters before. She begged Jake to let her march close to him, for he was up near the front and therefore had the most space, and with how packed together everyone was and the wandering eyes of the soldiers already sending prickles up and down her back, she couldn’t help but be afraid that her pregnancy would be discovered. At least with Jake she knew he would shield her from those eyes. After all, it wasn’t as if she could go to Dirk.

The month had been…tense…between the two monarchs. They rarely spoke in that time, and never about anything but matters of state. Never did they meet to be alone, Jane too prideful and Dirk…well, most likely just as prideful, if not moreso. The only inkling of tenderness came in the form of a large package left by the caravan a few days before the battle. Jake and John helped her bring it inside, and Jade helped her open it. All three of them gasped in amazement when they saw the clothes, each piece made to the exacting specifications she and Dirk had noted down on Twelfth Perigee’s Eve, and at the bottom of the package Jane found a note. All it said, in orange ink, was:

**For You**

The ink was fresh, too, dried recently and still pristine. The lump in Jane’s throat throbbed anew, and she tucked the note away and made haste to change into one of the new outfits. If Dirk found her response, a ‘Thank You’ in cyan ink pushed under the door of his caravan, he did not mention it, but in the days since Jane thought she saw a flicker of a smile on Dirk’s lips whenever she was near and wearing something new.

Ahead of her, ahead of Jake and the few troops that managed to keep up with them, Eridan rode ahead on horseback. He had insisted on making a statement to the Beforan who awaited them, and Dirk had relented, allowing the troll to take a chestnut stallion up the mountain. He had shown up that morning in the sharpest of military dress, his jacket and trousers pressed with crisp creases, the ornaments of his station glistening upon his lapels, his boots polished so finely that he could probably see his face in the toes if he looked down. A cape even hung from his back, purple velvet long and pristine. His rifle, Ahab’s Crosshairs, was strapped to his back underneath, peeking out with the cape’s every flutter.

In contrast, Jake looked like a ragamuffin, his clothes nearly threadbare in anticipation for fisticuffs. The only thing he had bothered to prepare were his pistols, gleaming and loaded in their holsters on his hips. Every step he took seemed to raise his spirits, and the further up the mountain they went Jane found it harder and harder to keep up with him.

“Jake, slow _down!_ ” She reached out and caught his hand, but he kept going, pulling her along. “Ah! Jake, I can’t, _please_ -”

“If we slow down, the Beforans will think we’ve gone yellow-bellied!” Jake said. He gently tugged her closer and hooked an arm around her shoulders. “And that is certainly no way to begin a rumble of such importance! The sooner we begin, the sooner we win!”

Jane quickened her pace. She had no choice, being led around by her cousin like this. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” Jake beamed. “We’re the good guys, Jane. We’re going to win no matter what, and it’ll all be peachy keen and hunky dory.” He squeezed her close. “I believe in us with all I’ve got!”

It was blind optimism in the face of an unknown threat, and overall incredibly foolish. Jane subscribed to skepticism herself, but she found herself chuckling at Jake’s pluck. “I hope you’re right,” She said. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw Eridan flinch on top of his horse, and it snorted in response.

The top of the mountain was reached with a relieved sigh at first, troops’ legs relaxing as the incline and tight quarters ceded to the open air of the peak. Only Eridan and Jake noticed their opponent initially. He stood as if slouched against some invisible wall with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, his black clothes shockingly simple and plain. He, like the other Beforans, could have been the twin of their opposing troll, for though age had clearly defined some features, down to the very horns both he and Eridan looked the same. The one noticeable difference was a pair of scars on the Beforan’s forehead, jagged lines light against his grey skin. The Beforan’s milky eyes widened when he saw them, and his mouth curled up in a sharklike smile.

“Hey babes,” He said, his words quick and his voice like rolling velvet, “Come her often?”

Jake looked at their opponent with open confusion. “Er…yes? Of course we’re here often, we’ve been fighting you blokes for nearly a year n – ow!”

Eridan dismounted his steed and elbowed Jake in the side, his face the epitome of disgust. “He’s sayin’ it like he’s _flirtin’_ ,” The troll hissed, “Don’t be a glubbin’ _idiot_.”

The Beforan plucked the cigarette from his mouth before he let it fall open, his face drooping. “You say that like don’t _vwant_ me to flirt vwith you!” He exclaimed. His w’s seemed to cling to that velvet in his voice, demanding they be accompanied by v’s. There wasn’t any other way to explain his accent. “Havwen’t either of you looked in a mirror lately? You cats’re _smoking_!” The Beforan paused to fish around in his pocket and pull out a book of matches. “If I’d knowvn the other side had such a bewvy of babes, I’d of svwitched sides in a hot minute!”

Though a collective groan did not rise from those present, it would not have been out of place. Not only was this a completely flippant statement, but after so many battles, no one was dumb enough to trust a Beforan. With one, two, three flicks of his wrist he lit a match, and brought the flame to the tip of his cigarette. His inhales were shallow, his fins fluttering with each one.

“It helps that you humans are tenacious as all get out,” He said, “Vwho vwouldn’t wvant to havwe your track record? Ten battles vwithout a loss – the vworst you’wve had is ties, and that isn’t so bad. Of course, I kind of hawve a thing going with the Benefactor. Vwe all do.” The Beforan paused and wrinkled his nose. “Sorry. Did, I mean. Vwouldn’t be here vwithout him, and if he vwants me, Cronus ‘Orphaner’ Ampora, to fight, it’s not like I’m going to up and leawve for some tail.” He took a long drag, and when he spoke next smoke poured from his mouth. “Dig it?”

Eridan huffed and reached under his cape, hand firm on his rifle. “W-we’d ‘dig it’ more if you w-were six feet under,” He said, “No amount a flow-wery w-words’ll make me go any easier on you.”

Cronus frowned and snuffed his cigarette on the pad of his thumb without a flinch. “Didn’t think it vwould.”

Though the wind howled across the peak and sent shivers down every spine, though the sun was nowhere near the center of the sky, it felt as if high noon had come with pounding heat and the intense glare of opposing trolls, watching each other for the most minute of signs of a draw.

The trolls would have waited with infinite patience were it not for Jake. It was he who made the first move, the anticipation gnawing at his reflexes until he had to grasp his pistols. The moment he did so, both Eridan and Cronus sprang into action. Eridan’s cape flew off in a flurry as he pulled out his rifle, and Cronus withdrew something long and thin from the sleeve of his shirt. There was a high pitched whistle and the sudden scent of concentrated heat before two white, bright beams shot out in opposing directions. The troops and their leaders all threw themselves to the ground and covered their heads, the whistle now deafening to their ears. Eridan’s steed bucked and neighed as it ran down the mountain, frothing with terror.

Luckily, neither shot had been aimed to kill, or even injure. One beam dissolved to the east, another to the west, and the whistling went with it. Jane lifted her head to see Jake running towards the trolls, a pistol in each hand, as they lifted their weapons once more.

“ _What in the hell was THAT?!?_ ” Someone shouted – Jane couldn’t tell who, her ears rang with the remnants of the whistle and she could have sworn another was right on its heels. At first she wondered, too, for no power of this sort existed in her knowledge without the aid of magic or the Arts, but then a hunch caught her attention, a hunch so crazy and strange that it could be nothing else but the truth.

“It’s got to be Hope!” She exclaimed, “Highly concentrated and powerful enough to harm! They’ve found a way to weaponize it!”

Strange, yes, but Hope was a strange Art. Why couldn’t it be channeled into energy?

An actual investigation would have to wait. The beams sounded again, and this time Jane saw one emerge from the tip of Eridan’s rifle, the other from the tip of whatever it was Cronus held, a wand perhaps. Their weapons seemed to act as conduits, their belief in themselves and their cause literally trying to pierce their opponent. Jake stopped just outside their line of sight, watching with wide eyes and fingers ready on the triggers of his pistols.

“Bloody shitspitting hell!” He exclaimed, “How in the devil are they _doing_ that?! I…” He turned back to the troops, his face pale. “I’ve only got a shot per gun!”

“Don’t announce it to the world!” Someone shouted back, “Just make both shots count!”

If possible, Jake became even paler as he realized what he’d said, and turned back to the dueling trolls, hefting a pistol into position. He meant to shoot Cronus, Jane realized, but he did not yet pull the trigger, instead letting his barrel follow the Beforan’s movements. Whoever had shouted advice, Jake was taking it to heart – any shot he made would be crucial, he just had to wait for the opportunity.

He did not have to wait long. After three more pairs of beams crisscrossed the air Cronus brandished his wand with a flourish, and the light it shot forth slammed into Eridan, knocking him to the ground. In that split second, with the Beforan’s eyes elsewhere and his body clear, Jake took aim and pulled the trigger.

The boom was a pop compared to the sizzle of white light from before, and Cronus screamed in pain as his hand bled violet, his wand falling to the ground like a discarded stick. In the second it took for him to spot Jake, the other pistol had come up, and a bullet hole appeared in Cronus’s chest. He cried out again and grasped at it, blood gushing out like mad.

“Vwhat the fuck’s you’re problem?!” Cronus said, stumbling to the ground. He groped for his wand with his uninjured hand. “Vwho shoots a guy wvho’s not evwen looking-”

His words were cut off by a fist to the jaw as Jake fell upon him, grappling with the weakening troll. “Who joins the army of a gosh danged megalomaniac just because they owe him something?” Jake exclaimed. “Who doesn’t so much as bat an eye when there’s leagues of innocent people at stake? Who can be _jovial_ enough about that to flirt with the _enemy?!_ ”

A troll of Cronus’s caste should have been able to overpower Jake, but with the rapid blood loss and the repeated blows to the head, the Beforan struggled just to strike back, and though his claws dug into Jake’s flesh the young Duke did not so much as flinch. “I have just about had enough of you Beforan scallywags killing our friends and muddling in our lives when running countries and growing up is hard enough already!! Don’t you understand that?!”

Cronus did not answer. Jake managed to pin him to the ground with his knees on the troll’s shoulders, and quick as a flash he began to reload one of his pistols. With no ceremony, no grand speech, Jake lodged a bullet between the Beforan’s pearly eyes, allowing himself to flinch as he was spattered with blood and grey brains. Cronus’s hold immediately relaxed, his arms flopping to the ground.

Jake stayed on his enemy until he was sure he was dead, panting hard, blood and mush dripping down his face and onto his clothes. His eyes grew wide and his hands shook, the hot fury and unflappable strength that had fueled his actions slipping away like water down a drain. He mumbled something inaudible to himself, wiping at his face, his eyes finally wandering to Eridan’s body, curled in on itself and emitting gasping breaths. Seeing it jolted him into action; he pushed himself off of Cronus, stumbled, and made his way to his partner in Hope on wobbling legs.

“Eridan,” He gasped, “We’ve done it, old bean! Hope for our side has prevailed…” Jake allowed himself to sink to his knees. “Or, well, a good blow to the noggin has. I mean. That’s the truth, really.” He put a hand on the troll’s shoulder and shook him lightly. “Are you going to tell me how you managed that light show-”

The light shake was too much for Eridan. His breathing turned to moans and he flopped onto his back. His hands were pressed against his middle, where the light from Cronus’s wand had left a deep gash. Blood bubbled up with every breath, and he pushed down in vain to contain the intestines that poked through the opening. He might as well have been cut in half.

Jake screamed as he tumbled back, his entire body shaking violently. “Crispy hell-raising _cripes_ – _medic!_ Someone get a medic over here-”

Eridan groaned. “Ain’t…time f’r…medic…y’ fuckin’ putz…” He said. Though in great pain, his voice was just audible for the troops to hear. “Not a…bit a Hope…f’r me…” Eridan coughed and grinned, his teeth coated with blood. “Newer w-was…”

“D-Don’t talk like that!” Jake said. His eyes had quickly filled with tears that cut lines through the goop on his face. “T-There’s always Hope! We’ve _won_ , Eridan, a-and now we’re going to make you all better, you’ll see-” He tore his eyes from the sight. “Feferi! Someone get Miss Feferi, on the double-”

Another moan rose from Eridan as his eyes slipped closed. “No…not Fef…”

“She can heal you, chap, don’t exert yourself-”

“No…” Eridan’s voice had lowered to a whisper, just barely clinging to consciousness. “Protect…Fef…”

And with that final utterance, Eridan’s head lulled to the side just as Feferi burst through the ranks…just a moment too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While not nearly as long as the last chapter, or as in-depth as it could be, this is what I offer you. No, I can't believe we've gotten this far through the story either, and to tell the truth, the Battle of Life is something I've been looking forward to writing for quite some time. That, and all that comes after.
> 
> Hold tight to your hats, folks, the ride ain't over yet.


	16. Empress

_“IT’S **RAW**!!!!!”_

_Jane squeezed her eyes shut as a gob of hot, half-chewed rabbit meat was thrown right into her face. She made no move to wipe it off – the last time she tried, a whole bowl of stew had been dumped on her head, and the last time she’d ducked the entire pot had gone sailing towards her. If she hadn’t ducked again, she would have probably come out with worse than deep-seeded terror._

_Something mushy hit her eye – a piece of potato, no doubt. “COLD AND RAW!! I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT. THAT YOU WOULD HAVE THE EXPERIENCE. TO NOT SERVE CRAP ANYMORE!!!!”_

_“I-I’m sorry, m’Lord,” Jane stammered, only to be pelted with who knew what Caliborn had picked out of his bowl._

_“Thirteen human years old. Thirteen!” There was the distinct crash of a bowl against a wall and the scrape of a chair shoved back. “And yet. There are still imperfections!” Footsteps stomped towards her, and a clawed hand smeared gravy down the front of her dress, the thumb pressing not-so-subtly over her breasts – an occurrence that had become more frequent the older she had become. “You are. A complete and utter disgrace to me.”_

_Indignation burned in Jane as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Her mind prickled with the touch of his flickering eyes, seeing all, knowing all. “Y-Yes, m’Lord.”_

_“You are worthless. Ugly. And stupid.”_

_“Yes, m’Lord.”_

_The hand grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her back. Jane stumbled, landing on her bottom. “Leave me. Until tomorrow,” He said, “If you can. Prove yourself worthy at breakfast. Eat nothing and do not wash. Do not change clothes. You will be punished if you do.”_

_“Yes – yes, m’Lord…!” Jane scrambled to her feet and hurried away, only opening her eyes when the dining room’s door had been thrown shut behind her. She sobbed out of reflex, though in her memory she played her actions over and over again, how tender she had pounded the meat and how thoroughly she had cooked each piece before even putting it in the stew, how she had peeled and blanched the potatoes, ground the peppercorns herself and made a gravy from drippings and wine that cooks would envy. She had taken the smallest of samplings as she cooked, and everything had tasted perfect – she couldn’t afford presenting anything less._

_All of that hard work and worry, and Lord Caliborn still found fault with her._

_It was inevitable that she resent him. If Jane had truly done wrong, a reprimand would have its place, but not the utter humiliation he liked to torment her with on a whim. So many times she had told Jake of her struggles, and so many times he promised he would find a way to make things better, but they had been here five years and nothing had changed._

_To her, it seemed that it would never change._

_Jane hugged herself as she trudged through the green velvet halls, stew dripping onto the carpet behind her. No doubt she’d be summoned by the Lord’s latest conquest to scrub it clean later. She hadn’t known Lady Damara for long, and she did not want to get on her bad side so soon._

_There was little that could cheer Jane’s spirits. Not a surprise visit from Jake, or retreating to her pitiful excuse for a bedroom, or even the weight of her amber pendant under her clothes could offer any sort of reassurance or inkling that her world could change for the better. It was as this thought made to lodge itself firmly in Jane’s mind that it was shooed away by a flood of something that was never in short supply for her – curiosity. At that moment, a voice tinkled through the halls of the House of Lords that she had never heard before._

_“Hellooo? Is anybuoy theeeere?”_

_A young troll appeared at the end of the hall. She had well-kept, long hair and horns that curved outward, and fins with magenta webbing that could only be described as elegant, even though she could be no older than Jane herself. Someone had taken great care to dress her in fine tyrian silk, the fabric billowing as if its wearer walked underwater. The troll made a beeline for Jane, eyes wide and sparkling behind a set of thick spectacles._

_“Oh! Hi there – you’re not busy, are you? I’m trying to find Lord Clamiborn, but his house is so twisty-turney, I can’t make fish heads or tails of it!” She stopped just in front of Jane, smiling wide and rocking on her heels. “You work here, right? Could you please show me the way?”_

_On any other day, it would be easy for Jane to escort anyone to the Lord’s frequent haunts, but just the thought of going back the way she came made her stomach churn. All she could see was this troll, a veritable princess, pretty like a porcelain doll and blithe as if she hadn’t willingly run into the den of a terrible beast. She should leave, Jane thought, before Caliborn snatched her up too, subjected her to misery and woe…_

_The troll’s expression fell, and her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ shape. “Is somefin wrong? Why’re you crying?”_

_It was true. Jane’s eyes had filled with tears until they spilled down her cheeks, her body jerking as she suppressed the urge to hiccup and sob. She was thirteen now, practically a lady, and ladies weren’t supposed to cry even when they were at their saddest, so she’d been told by Caliborn’s many snobbish and loathsome lovers…but the troll did not seem disgusted. She frowned and pulled on her sleeve until she held a fistful of the silk and shuffled closer, kindly wiping Jane’s eyes and face._

_“You sound like you’re glubbing,” The troll said softly, “Somefin reely awful must’ve happened to make a human glub. Do you need somebubbly to talk to?”_

_Jane shook her head after a moment. “N-No…no, thank you, I…” She sniffed and hiccuped. “I…he said it was raw…but it wasn’t…he’s always…getting mad, I…”_

_Befuddlement graced the troll’s features as she continued to wipe at Jane’s eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense,” She said. Her free hand reached into a pocket on her dress, and she pulled out a little cloth bundle. “But you’re sad, and that’s no fun at all. You need this more than me.”_

_“W-What…?”_

_“Here, take it.” The troll put it in Jane’s hands. “It’s yummy cake! My moray-eel gave it to me. It’s supposed to be the best cake in the whole kingdom of Derse, so a nibble’s got to make anyone smile, right?”_

_Caliborn’s orders were pushed aside, replaced with this stranger and her small, selfless gesture. If he found that she’d eaten anything, she’d be punished. If he knew someone had cleaned her face without her trying to stop them, she’d be punished. But that didn’t matter. This tiny blip in the troll’s life bloomed in Jane’s like colored dye in clear water, and when the troll finally left, promising to find someone else to show her the way to Derse’s highest Lord, Jane held the bundle of cake close to her chest with an innocent reverence._

_Only years later would Jane realize that the troll who had shown her how quickly a life could change from an act of random kindness was one Feferi Peixes._

~*~

There had been too much death for tears to be shed openly at Eridan Ampora’s pyre. Those who wished to mourn would do so in private, for here on the peak of the domed mountain there seemed a river of blood forever flowing down its sides, even though it could not be seen or touched. It was not easy to live with the spectre of death overhead, and one couldn’t let its grim machinations control them. No one could live like that. To harden one’s heart to terrible things was a necessity for survival.

Eridan’s ashes were gathered once his pyre had burned to embers, swept up and placed in a stone jar, and all joined the procession to place him with the others. The little shrine of remembrance for those who had fallen had quickly become a mausoleum, where the remains of Tavros, Nepeta, Vriska, and Equius all resided in their own stone jars, their symbols carved with a deft hand and impeccable care.

“I feel as if we might as well put a commission in for one last urn,” Jane heard Rose mutter, pulling both Terezi and Kanaya to her side, “Look how well warning our friends against death has gone. As loathe as I am to admit it, our good intentions to thwart our own prophecy have truly become a lost cause.”

The prophecy – Jane hadn’t thought of it in ages. Had it really been so long ago since the Seers had spouted their strange and cryptic poetry? Why, it’d been a year, just nearly! Nearly a year in this castle, on its grounds and amongst the people of its town…and to think they had intended to stay for a few weeks at most! The castle where she had hoped to begin a new and exciting life had become a prison, one they would likely never leave even after the Beforans had been defeated once and for all.

Jane hung back from the throng that congregated around the mausoleum, placing a hand on the swell of her stomach. There was no way she’d be able to fight next month. By then it really _would_ be too dangerous for herself and the baby, and Dirk’s simmering rage and Karkat’s woozy chiding rang in her reddening ears. Even if she wanted to fight, it was doubtful that the others would let her even step foot on the mountain, no matter how important it was that she be there; at the same time, the thought of abandoning the fight when it was finally her turn made Jane sick. She had a duty as Queen, as a user of the Art of Life, as someone who invested her very being into the welfare of both Prospit and Derse. The last of the Beforans could not be ignored, not while their movement still threatened to ravage the land should this battle fail to thwart them.

It was as she pondered this predicament that a thud caught Jane’s attention. The stone urn containing Eridan’s ashes had been placed inside the mausoleum, and its door had been shut by the one who placed it there, a very wan and pale Feferi Peixes. Just the sight of the troll sparked a plan in Jane’s mind, and for three days she stoked the spark until it became a roaring fire of an operation. She would have proposed it right away, had she not wanted to respect Lady Peixes’ right to mourn. After all, who went to anyone to discuss war when someone they loved had passed away?

So, when the three days had passed, Jane found herself at the door of Feferi’s tower. The troll had only emerged for food during the day, her eyes rimmed with tears and her responses short and quiet. It was possible, however, that she moved about the castle in the night; each morning showed evidence of the baths being used for a long duration of time, and never did Feferi look unwashed, so at the very least she was taking care of herself. With this nugget of hope in mind, Jane knocked on her door.

“Lady Peixes? Are you in?”

There was a beat of silence, and a creak from within the tower. “The door’s open,” Jane heard Feferi say, her voice weak from the top of the tower, “Come up.”

True to her word, the door opened easily, and Jane thanked her before ascending the stairs. At the top another door had been left ajar, and Jane pushed it open, entering Feferi’s quarters. Their extended stay in the castle had left its mark; the troll’s room had been furnished much like how Jane remembered her personal caravan from the war march so long ago, with lace and seashells and all sorts of little trinkets. Beside a well-kept recuperacoon was a plush chaise, upon which Feferi sat, wrapped in blankets. Her cheeks were wet, and upon seeing Jane she made an attempt to dry them.

“Oh – Jane, hello, I didn’t reelize it was you…” She sniffed and shuffled over to make room for Jane to sit. “Sorry about the mess. I haven’t been expecting anybuoy to shoal up here…”

The room was spotless, save for some clutter upon a dresser. Small portraits of what Jane assumed to be Feferi’s late moirail had been flipped down or covered with hastily tossed handkerchiefs. “It’s fine,” Jane said, and she slid in next to Feferi on the chaise. It was surprisingly firmer than it looked. “This is your space. It can look however you wish it to look.”

Feferi shrugged weakly. “I’d…prefer it clean,” She mumbled, and drew the blankets tighter around her. “Do you need me for somefin?”

“I do, in fact. I wanted to speak to you about our upcoming battle.” The troll’s eyes widened. “I know it’s not for a while yet, but this is something we need to discuss now, and solve now, or we’re going to be in dire straights when the Ides arrive.” Jane’s gaze lowered to her lap, and she fiddled with her fingers. “I’m…not going to be able to fight when the time comes.”

Tyrian eyes blinked once, twice. “Why naut?”

“…I’m _pregnant_ , Feferi.”

“So?”

“So…I won’t be able to move as I should if I fought. One wrong step and I could lose the baby, or worse, and…well…you saw what I did at the Battle of Rage, I…” It took Jane a moment to get past the growing lump in her throat, biting down her pride as well as her lower lip. “I need…to be more cautious.”

Feferi cocked her head. “Does making a human wiggler really do that to somebuoy?”

“M-More or less.” Jane’s fiddling fingers turned to loosely curled fists. “I really didn’t want to ask this of you. I want to fight, too, but…I simply won’t be able to.”

Silence settled between them, and slowly, Feferi unwrapped her blanket, laying part of its length over Jane’s shoulders. “So you’d like _me_ to do all the fighting.”

“You know I wouldn’t send you out alone if I could help it-”

“It’s _fin_ ,” Feferi said, and her hand found itself on the small of Jane’s back. There was something soothing about her voice, like the far-off whisper of sirens from some rocky shore. “This is _oar_ time to defend everyone. We’ve got to row together in the same direction, or we won’t get anywhere! And if we can’t do that, whale, what _are_ we doing?”

“…Floundering?” Jane guessed. Feferi beamed.

“Exactly! And nobuoy likes to flounder. Eating flounder, shore, but imitating them? No way!”

Jane found herself chuckling at the troll’s puns, and Feferi joined in, some of her gloom finally lifting from her expression. That was good – while it was healthy to mourn, the coming battle made it necessary to ground oneself. They had all seen how the ungrounded fared on the mountain.

As the laughter died down, a knock sounded from below, and Feferi rose, taking her blanket with her. “Coming! Hold your seahorses, I’m coming!” She disappeared down the tower stairs, and Jane looked after her curiously, straining her ears. Who else could need Feferi today?

All she could hear were muffled voices before two sets of footsteps ascended the tower. The first to appear was Feferi, wide eyed and gesturing behind her. The second…

The second was Dirk. He looked tired, his hair more disheveled than usual and a sheen of sweat to his brow. His spectacles caught the light of Feferi’s quarters, appearing opaque, and a shiver ran down Jane’s spine. “ _There_ you are,” He said, “I’ve been scouring the whole goddamn castle for you.”

This was the most Dirk had said to her at one time since their fight. Jane’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever for?” She asked.

He crossed his arms. “What do you think? It’s getting a little late in the game to go around pretending everything’s business as usual. I’ve already been approached by no more than five soldiers asking if the rumors are true.” Dirk tilted his head as Jane opened her mouth to ask specifically what rumors they were talking about; for that moment his eyes were visible, the pupils a little too small for his even tone. “They think either you’re experimenting with Life and growing yourself a kid or you’re fooling around with somebody behind my back, and we both know that isn’t the case.”

A hot flush came over Jane, and she bit her bottom lip. So it was damaged pride that brought Dirk here, a feeling that time had forced their hand when they were barely ready. Even with the tenseness that had settled between them, she couldn’t blame him for being upset. It hurt her too, the idea that the people thought she would betray Dirk. Jane gave a single nod.

“We’ll tell them,” She said, “We’ll announce it to the whole town, and send word through Prospit and Derse, to all countries we’ve had relations with. We’ll do it within the week, I suppose…in four days? That might give us just enough time to prepare everything.” She met his gaze with her back straight and shoulders squared. “And we’ve got to be truthful. No matter how it makes us look, we’ve got to be up front about what’s happened, or these kind of rumors will continue to circulate.”

Feferi looked helplessly between the two monarchs. “Erm…do you _have_ to do this in here…?”

“You do realize that being hypnotized by a supernatural creature working for our enemy to boink in a secret room in a mountain is less likely to be believed, right?” Dirk asked. Feferi pouted at the blatant snub.

“Well it’s the truth, isn’t it? And we’ve got to be honest. How can we hold our heads up to the world if we aren’t?”

Was this it, their next argument? Dirk met her gaze unwaveringly, and Jane tried not to let the creeping anxiety wash over her. She couldn’t handle another shouting match. Not when the last still lingered.

Finally, the young King heaved a sigh. “Alright,” He said, “We’ll…do it your way. I’ll see about getting some nice paper for sending out announcements. Maybe the shock will have less of a shit-your-pants factor if we write it out on the good stuff.”

_We’ll do it your way_. The words rang in Jane’s ears, and she followed Dirk as he turned to go, whispering a hasty apology to a disgruntled Feferi. “Do you mean it?” She asked as they descended the stairs.

“Mean what?”

“That you’re taking my advice to heart?”

“…That’s about the gist of what I said, isn’t it?”

“But do you _mean_ it?”

Dirk came to a stop at the foot of the stairs, a hand on the tower door. He turned back to Jane. “Why wouldn’t I?” He asked curtly. “What the hell makes you think I wouldn’t?”

The lump in Jane’s throat appeared anew, hot and prickling. Her hands twitched, itching to ball into fists. “You should remember,” She said, “The…disagreement last month. After that, it’s…hard to imagine you’d take my word for anything at all.”

From the way Dirk flinched, openly at that, the subject was just as tender with him as it was with her. His hand fell from the door and he leaned against it, allowing weariness to slump his shoulders. It was a small shift, but to Jane’s eye it was unmistakable, and pity surged anew within her.

“…It’s really only been a month, huh,” He said. “Feels like a lot longer.”

Jane’s body relaxed despite herself. “It…it really does.”

Dirk ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t stopped thinking about our, uh, disagreement. As you put it. Not once.” He paused, glancing away. “Even dreamed about it a couple nights. Makes a guy…not want to sleep anymore.” Dirk sighed. Every word he spoke was stilted, quiet, as if he too tried to speak around a lump in his throat. “I figured I had to…make up for what I did. It wasn’t right of me to put you down for something you believe so strongly in. And, you were right. You do have a duty, and…you’re the only one who can call the shots for it. I fucked up, Jane. I’m sorry.”

Was this really happening? Jane pinched the inside of her arm, but the pain assured her this was no dream; Dirk stood before her, humbled, apologizing of his own accord. It made her own pride crumble to see it, and she looked down at the ground, a bashful blush appearing on her cheeks.

“…I messed up, too,” She said. Dirk perked up immediately. “I shouldn’t have…gotten so angry. Your concerns are more than valid, and I need to take them seriously. I _am_ , I just…” She gestured back up the steps. “Feferi and I were speaking about the next Battle. She knows it’s foolish for me to fight and agreed to take it on her shoulders.” Jane brought her arms around her. “I’m sorry I acted the way I did. I don’t want to give you any more cause to worry yourself into sleepless nights-”

She didn’t realize that tears had started to dribble down her cheeks until Dirk came forward and embraced her, his shoulder immediately dampening as he gently pressed Jane’s forehead to it. He sniffled once, twice, his arms tight around her, tight enough that nothing could have pried them apart. She had missed the warmth and strength of his touch, and her arms shifted to hug him back, grasping at the back of his shirt.

“…We’re both idiots,” She said, “Aren’t we?”

He nodded. “Grade A idiots. Who the hell thought we should run countries?”

“I-I’m fairly certain _we_ did.”

Another sniff. “That explains it, then. Only idiots would put idiots in charge.” He rubbed her back soothingly, the two of them slowly rocking on their heels. “And only idiots would take a whole month to admit they’re both in the wrong.”

“Prideful idiots,” Jane corrected, and Dirk laughed. It was a tired sound, rough around the edges, but there was a nugget of relief in it that made that awful, persistent lump in her throat go away.

“I…I need a nap like nobody’s business,” He said, and finally pulled away. “Would you…like to join me?”

It was Jane’s turn to laugh, and she reached over to open the door to the grass corridor. “I would.”

~*~

The next four days passed in a flurry of activity, and yet for Jane they were as slow as molasses. Every waking moment was filled with necessary monotony, for she and Dirk penned each and every letter of announcement of their predicament to every monarch they had come in favorable contact with. There were also declarations to be written and sent to every town in Prospit and Derse, to be read by the civic leaders the day of the announcement at the castle. That too needed to be organized, the soldiers made into impromptu guards to organize the masses, the images of the monarchs and their courts in need of fine grooming. Not a hair could be out of place, not when a sea of eyes would be upon them and the possibility for rebellion could spike.

The announcement was scheduled for noon before the mausoleum, where a stage had been constructed by the workmen, happy to put some of their excess materials to good use. It was a U shaped platform, with stairs coming up the center and plenty of space for every noble and royal to stand without jostling each other. Townsfolk were ushered into the castle grounds by soldiers and servants and were offered a multitude of cushions to sit upon. The idea was to generate a comfortable area that would facilitate civilized discussion; if the audience sat, they might be less likely to vent their frustrations in the crowd, and comfort was an ideal catalyst for that. Or, at least, that’s what Jane and Dirk hoped for.

Once the people had been seated, the trolls took their place on the stage. Each of them dressed simply, in black coats and pants with blood-color sashes and their hatch symbols embroidered neatly on their chests in white, the stark contrast there to show their allegiance with their human peers. After them came the humans in pairs; John and Dave, Rose and Jade, Jake and Roxy, all six of them in white with the colors of their Art embroidered into the hems of their clothes. Each also wore one item with their favorite color – John sported gloves of electric blue, Dave’s cravat was strawberry red, Rose’s headband was lavender, Jade’s bangles were lime green, Jake’s cufflinks were emerald and Roxy wore a pink scarf around her neck. Such accessories were markers of a blood color to trolls, and showed not only an understanding of their significance but a respect as well.

Last, side by side, came Jane and Dirk. Their clothes were much like their siblings and cousins’, white with their Art’s colors in the hems, and they too wore something more personal. Dirk’s belt was the same vibrant orange as his eyes, while a shawl of cyan had been wrapped around Jane’s shoulders, obscuring her front from view. She let out a soft breath as they reached the top of the stairs.

“I’m frightened,” She whispered to Dirk, her mouth barely moving. He leaned subtly closer and placed a hand on the small of her back. It had been awkward, working on this announcement together after such a long time apart, so even such a small gesture of affection sent a tingle of relief through her body.

“I’m petrified,” He whispered back, “But we can’t just turn and run.”

“…I know.”

It was all they needed to say, all they could say with such an audience before them. Past their courts and families they walked until they stood before them all, two figures who drew the attention of everyone present. They stood for a moment, allowing silence to settle through the crowd. A weak breeze blew through, a cold core of winter with the first catching edges of spring, and Jane pulled the shawl tighter around her.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming here on such short notice,” Dirk said. He spoke slow and clear, his voice echoing out across the grounds. “We really do appreciate it, as fellow humans and trolls, that you consider our words important enough to heed.” It was a humble beginning, unfitting of Dirk or of any King, but meant to further curry the favor of the people. “That being said, I’m sure you’re all wondering what this is all about.”

That was Jane’s cue. She cleared her throat. “For a few weeks, or so I’ve been informed, there have been rumors circulating about my actions and the truth of my…faithfulness…to my fiancé.” Titters and whispers ran through the crowd, and Jane lifted a hand. “Please – if you could wait before you sling any arrows. _Please_.”

Eventually the hubbub died down, and Dirk picked up where she left off. “We want to reassure you that there’s nothing being hidden by smoke and mirrors here. Everything’s honest between Her Grace and I. Everything’s square. After all…” He leaned close to Jane and took the hem of her shawl at her shoulders, hands shaking as he pulled it away with the gentlest of tugs. “…It’s…it’s mine.”

The audience gasped. Underneath the shawl, Jane’s dress had been tied under her bust to emphasize the curve of her stomach. She brought a hand to rest on top of it, and the other found Dirk’s, squeezing it until her knuckles were white.

“It was an act of psychological warfare,” Jane said. Her voice held the slightest of wavers. “We were made to act against our will by a Beforan General, and have decided, out of all of our options, to make the best of it. We expect the child in less than four months’ time.”

“We’ve announced this to you in person,” Dirk said amid the rising whispers of the crowd, “And by messenger and mail across both Prospit and Derse, across the world. As much of a shock as it is to you, know that you’re not the only ones just finding out.” There was something to his hand that felt tense in Jane’s, something that conjured the image of Dirk pulling her behind him as an onslaught of citizens descended on the stage in anger. “I believe our intent to join our kingdoms into one has been evident for quite some time now. I also know that some of you may believe this to be a ploy to expedite the process, and that some of you are strongly against the idea. If you happen to be in the former category…”

He paused. An insult lingered on his tongue, no doubt, and Jane nudged him slightly. “If you do think we’re trying to hoodwink you, we beg of you to look inside your hearts and bid us forgiveness. We are not immortal or all-knowing. We are simply trying to make both kingdoms better, for the lives of trolls and humans alike – we want _both_ peoples to work together for a better future than we ever could have had separate and under Cherubim rule.” Her head lowered as a blush crept across her cheeks. “We never meant for things to happen this way. Please.”

None of that had been planned beforehand as some gesture of humility; the heat of her fear spurred it on. It was almost as if Caliborn lorded over her once more with his terrible gaze, every eye sending a prickle of scrutiny across her skin.

Slowly, the whispers of the people became audible, and what Jane heard was…unexpected, to say the least.

“-Really can’t make that sort of thing up, can you? It _sounds_ crazy, but-”

“-Can we really trust them to do the right thing? If the Beforans could mess with their minds once-”

“-They act as if _they’re_ the ones killing the lords and ladies with their actions! Which they aren’t, I’ve seen every battle and-”

“-Madness! Absolute madness! Are human matesprits really worth so much that we’re all to be gambled-”

“-Standing with them through this weird human wiggler shit, they’re either as dumb as they’re loyal or they really think everyone can pull through together-”

This and more bubbled forth until the entire crowd was talking, the presence of their leaders completely forgotten. No one rose to challenge the figures on stage, no one caused a ruckus in the crowd. Behind her, Jane could hear the others creeping closer, the stage creaking with every step.

“No one is defecting,” Rose said.

“Nobody’s jumping up to wish us well, either,” Jake countered. The soldiers began to disperse through the crowds, asking the people to return to town, that the declaration was over and there would always be time to discuss it. They, too, looked at the young adults clustered on stage with new eyes. “Might be they need time to sit on it all. Take it in.”

Karkat cleared his throat. “I’ll get some of the soldiers to patrol the town,” He said, “See if we can catch any bullshit before it becomes a shit storm. It’s probably not a bad idea to keep an eye out for a forecast of fecal matter raining down in other areas, too.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dirk said. He nudged Jane; she still looked out at the retreating backs of the people. “Your Grace? Does your General have permission to keep shit from being wrecked?”

Jane only responded when Dirk took his hand away. The loss of that anchor left her adrift in her own thoughts, and she jumped, startled. “Um – what – yes, of course. Permission granted.”

~*~

Not a single fight or protest broke out in the town beside the castle that night, or the next. The most, the soldiers reported, were small skirmishes and disagreements, loud discussions and a few drunken arguments that, once the participants were hung over and resting, made amends for.

“It’s less likely that anything bad will happen right here,” Dirk mused. It had been three whole days since the announcement, and mail had slowly begun to trickle in from citizens and foreign dignitaries alike, voicing their opinions on the matter. He and Jane sat at the table in the throne room, opening letters and sorting them into three piles: positive response, negative response, and undecided. So far the undecided pile was the biggest of them all. “The people in town are right next to the action. Soldiers come and go all the time, talking about all the crazy things the Beforans do. They’re not ignorant of what’s going on, and they’re not going to jump to conclusions. It’s outside this bubble we’ve got going that we need to worry about.”

Jane nodded, slipping a thumb under the flap of an envelope. “We don’t want people hurting themselves out there, or for misinformation to spread. Right?” When Dirk nodded, she let out a soft sigh. To be on the same page as Dirk and to work off of him was a relief, even if their thoughts did not fall into place as quickly as before. Even a bandaged wound can hurt as it heals, and it must be cared for until all is well again. The same can be said for a relationship. They were reconciled, but at the same time it was a tender reconciliation, a feeling-out of where it was okay to push and when they had to hold back.

For a time, all that could be heard was the tear and rustle of paper as letters were opened, the flutter of a page falling into a pile as they were sorted. Perhaps if they were in better spirits they would read the letters aloud, finding humor in any chiding or ranting within, but for now the contents of the letters were read in silence. The faint thump of workmen above sometimes filtered through from the ceiling; they had worked through the cold and winter to finish the ceiling of the second floor, and now, with it in place, their progress increased exponentially. There was talk of the floor being finished any day now, ready for the humans to move into and make themselves at home, and word had already been sent to both Prospit and Derse for furniture and personal items to be packed and shipped as soon as the roads were clear. With all that hung over their heads, it was nice to have something good to look forward to, and every now and then Jane would glance up at the stairs, hoping for the workmen to descend and proclaim that their task had finally finished.

Dirk must have noticed this, for after Jane had lifted her head from the letter in her hands three times, he cleared his throat. “You want to see the upstairs?” He asked. Her eyes flickered to him, her cheeks pink.

“Oh – sorry, um, well…maybe? But we’ve got an awful lot of mail…”

“It can wait,” He said, and chucked the letter he held onto the table. “Not like it’s going anywhere. Come on, we need a break.”

Dirk pushed himself up and circled around the table to help Jane out of her chair – it was getting a smidge difficult lately – and they climbed the stairs to the second floor. It was quite a trek, and the further Jane went the more she wondered if it was too late to put in a sort of lifting mechanism; no one could go up and down all these stairs _all_ the time, it was impractical. Then again, the workmen had been so good to them, tolerating war and high tensions and troubling weather conditions to complete this job. At the very least, they could tolerate the stairs for a little while.

At the top of the steps was an archway that led into a corridor. According to the planned layout, it ran the entire circumference of the second floor, boasting large windows with impressive views of the nearby town, the domed mountain, and the Scratchlands. Jane held a sleeve to her nose as workmen passed, carrying buckets of pungent paint to all corners of the corridor. The center of the floor was a large circular room divided into three suites – east, west, and center. The east side was to be for males; John, Dave, and Jake would sleep there whenever they came to stay. The west was for females; Rose, Jade, and Roxy would sleep there. The initial plan had been to scatter the royal families in pairs across Prospit and Derse, to create more strongholds of power and extend the reach of leadership, so that no point on the map felt neglected. However, with the Beforan threat, very little had been done in the way of making that plan a reality, and it was likely that all eight of them would live in this castle together for some time yet.

The center suite was for Jane and Dirk. Initially it was to be a common area for both suites, a place where everyone could mingle, but engagement had made private quarters a necessity – nay, a requirement. It felt like ages had passed since they had written to each other at length, deciding what furnishings they needed, the carpeting, the drapery and adornments. As they made their way to the door of the center suite, workmen rushing in and out of the doors for east and west, Jane had the fuzziest recollection of one of Dirk’s suggestions, a bright orange carpet with the same feel and give as the rump of one of his beloved Smuppets, and she had to stifle a chuckle.

“Something funny, Your Grace?” Dirk asked, taking the lead to open the door. She waved him off.

“It’s nothing. Just…remembering.”

The doorknob clicked as it turned. “Pardon me if I’m incorrect here, which I shouldn’t be, but I’m fairly certain that ‘remembering’ is as much nothing as we happen to be.” Dirk pushed the door open, the inside dark, and he turned back to Jane. “Can I carry you over the threshold?”

“…” Jane raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

“Can I carry you over the threshold of the room?” Dirk brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it. “It’s a thing in Derse. You see it all the time in plays and books. If you’re moving into a new home you carry someone you care about over the threshold. Seeing as we’ve been roughing it in wooden trailers for almost a year, it’s not fair to say we’ve been living in this castle, is it?” He gestured towards the door with his free hand. “Well, we’ve got our own room now. It’s been insulated, painted, carpeted, windowed, everything but filled with our crap, or so I’ve been told. This being our home…deal’s as good as sealed, right?”

Jane peered into the dark room, a blush creeping across her cheeks. “I…I might be a bit heavy for you, Dirk-”

“It’s five steps, I think I’ll manage not to throw out my back.” The words were dry on his tongue, pure sarcasm, and he came over to scoop Jane into his arms. One threaded under her back, and the other under her knees. “Don’t start with that kind of thing Jane, please. Maybe I’ll be concerned when I’m ancient and decrepit, but we’ve got a hell of a long time before that happens and I’m going to carry you as much as possible before then. If you’ll let me,” He added quickly, and carried her into the room. Faint light wafted in from above, but not enough to get a sense of the place.

“The curtains must be drawn,” Jane mused, and she racked her brain for the memory of the layout they had created. “I think it’s…three steps to the left, against the wall, there should be a rope.”

Dirk took three precise steps, still carrying Jane in his arms. “Would you like to do the honors? I’m kind of preoccupied at the moment-”

“Already on it.” Jane groped the wall until her fingers found a rope, and she grasped onto it tightly and pulled hard. There was an immediate flurry of activity above their heads as a large curtain was pulled up by a complex series of pulleys and mechanisms. It was a great big cone of a thing made of pearly pink velvet, and as it rose it revealed numerous round windows fitted into a peaked roof. They illuminated the rafters, the beams, and little loft areas that had been left in place by the workmen in order to build, some of which being large enough and sturdy enough to climb upon and rest. There were even ladders left behind, as interconnected as the rafters, creating a veritable jungle gym.

This alone was a sight to take one’s breath away, but the main floor of the suite was just as grand. Dark, thick carpet ran to the edge of every wall, which had been fitted with stained wood planks. Between them and the outer wall there was a special insulation in order to keep in warmth, and around the top edge of the wall where the wood stopped, special sconces ready for kerosene had been affixed. On the far wall there was a brick hearth with a wrought iron grate, but other than that the room stood empty, cavernous, waiting. One day, it would be a cozy roost, a familiar nest, but for now it was new and exciting, full of promise.

Only when the curtain stilled did Dirk let Jane down, resting her gently on her feet. He whistled appreciatively. “It’s even crazier than we imagined,” He said, his voice echoing, “Ridiculous, insane, nonsensical…”

“If it was nonsensical, it wouldn’t work,” Jane said. His mouth quirked into a smile.

“That’s true. Or maybe physics is just that baller and we never realized it.” Thumbs hooked into the waistband of his trousers, Dirk began to stroll around the wall, looking up at the lofts. Jane followed close behind. “I’m kind of digging these things, though. I know they weren’t in the original plan, but they don’t seem too obvious against the curtain. Maybe we can reinforce them and keep ‘em up on the walls for, uh…” He stopped under a loft, a hand grazing one of the rungs of its ladder. “For the kids?”

Jane came to a halt, her face blooming red. “ _Kids?_ ”

“Well, uh, for now, just the _kid_.” He shifted from foot to foot, heel to toe. “But if…well, if things happen down the line…things that require a plural on that word, then it’s for all of them, right? Hypothetically. Technically?” Dirk groaned and ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck, I don’t know, Jane. I just want to keep the lofts. I love climbing shit, and if this kid’s my kid, it’ll love climbing shit, too. It’ll be like having our own personal pet monkey up there. I guarantee it’ll climb before it can crawl, and swing from the rafters before it can walk…” He paused, his own cheeks tinted pink. “Oh, fuck a duck. I bet I sound like I’m out of my goddamn mind, don’t I? Completely off the wall, crazy pants bananas. Who plans ahead to this sort of shit? I’m not even planning ahead, it’s just occurring to me now-”

He was babbling – nervous, for sure, though Jane couldn’t understand why. She chuckled and came forward, pressing a finger to his mouth to silence him. “Please remember to breathe, Dirk,” She said, “Or you’re going to go blue in the face.” He complied immediately, taking slow, deep breaths, but he still seemed to shake under her fingertips. There had to be something Jane could do to calm him down. Something…

A sharp, swift nudge in the stomach was something, but not what Jane did to Dirk. She winced and pulled back, rubbing the side of her belly with the heel of her hand. “Good _grief!_ ” She hissed, “So _now_ you decide to wake up? Mamma’s a little busy at the moment, if you couldn’t tell!”

There was a sudden prickle of eyes on her, and Jane looked up. Dirk had lifted his spectacles to look at her, unabashedly bewildered. He raised a single eyebrow. “Uh. Jane? You…you okay there?”

Oh, great, so now she was the one who was crazy. Jane huffed, unable to keep herself from blushing. “The baby kicked me,” She said, “He likes to do that now and again. It was more like a pinch to begin with, but now I can feel it on the outside too, it’s-”

Her words fell silent as Dirk moved closer, his expression shifting from confused to curious. His hands, always so sure in their movements, hung at his sides, so wrong and so strange that he had to be holding himself back.

“You can…feel it?” Dirk asked. There was an awe to his voice that Jane had never heard before, small and humble in a way that did not suit him. After a moment, she nodded.

“Yes – _him_ ,” She corrected, “It’s not especially strong or frequent, but sometimes he’s got terrific aim, you see. And I can’t call him an ‘it’ if I can feel him, can I?”

His hands twitched, as if he meant to lift them. “… _Him?_ ”

“Well, I could say ‘her’ or ‘she’, but…I can’t explain it, a boy just…feels right on the tongue.” As if affirming her words, she felt the baby squirm again, this time a heel pressing on the top of her belly. She tutted and pressed back. “It’s been happening for, um, a little over a month now, but we were fighting, and he’s been rather quiet, or I’d have thought to tell you sooner-”

“Can I feel?”

Dirk blurted it out so suddenly that it took Jane a moment to realize what it was he had asked. He was red in the face, his eyes wide and sparkling as she had never seen them, and the sight made something click in her mind. She nodded, reaching out to take his hands.

“Of course! I can’t guarantee he’ll do it again, though.”

“That’s fine.” His hands relaxed under her guidance, one placed on the side of her belly and another on top, fingers splayed. “It… _he’s_ up, right?”

Jane nodded. “That’s right. He probably knows his Papa is here.”

A sputtered laugh left Dirk’s mouth and he pressed his forehead to Jane’s. “Oh my God. _Papa_. I am _not_ ready for that. Can he call me Bro instead?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Dave calls me Bro.”

“Dave is your actual brother, not your-”

The subsequent kick from the baby made both of them jump, Jane from how sudden it was and Dirk from the faint, distinct push against his palm. He drew back for the slightest of moments, staring at his hand in wonder, before he dropped to one knee and pressed his cheek against her belly, wrapping his arms around her. It happened so quickly that Jane wobbled and wavered in his hold.

“Whoa – Dirk, what’re you-”

“Do it again,” He said. “Kid, do it again.” There was a pause, and the baby nudged Jane right where Dirk’s cheek was. He began to laugh. “Holy _shit_ , Jane! I think he likes me. Fucking shit, kid’s not even born and he likes me!”

“Or he’s telling you to be quiet,” Jane said, but not without a laugh. Soon Dirk laughed, too, both of them filled with the airy light of their new quarters and a thrill that neither of them could name. Their hands intertwined on Jane’s sides, and Dirk pressed a fleeting kiss to her navel.

“I love you, Jane,” He said suddenly. His voice was breath and honey, and just the sound was enough to send her blush up into her ears. “I don’t say it as much as I should, but I really do – even when we’ve fucked up with each other I can’t not love you. It’s even worse then, because everything between us feels like a giant bruise and it just sits on the skin and turns every color of the rainbow, but in their nastiest hues, and the tiniest movement makes it throb like a heart pounding away under floorboards.” Dirk paused to whet his lips. “That’s the problem really. I care too much and too hard. Can’t make it look like I bruise easy, but I do, and you know that more than anyone.”

He could have easily gone on, but Jane spared him the fate. “I love you, too,” She said, “More than I can say, Dirk, bruises and all. I can’t help it, either, and I wouldn’t want to for the whole world.”

It was Dirk’s turn to blush, his eyes flickering to the floor. To see him so openly bashful made Jane’s heart skip a beat. “We’ve got to beat these Beforans once and for all. When the dust clears on that last fight, we’re putting a search out for this Benefactor and bringing him to justice. I’m not going to play any more games with this shit, and I know you’re not either. We’ve got two whole nations to do right by.” Softly, his forehead came to rest on her belly. How odd it was that one little flutter of movement could make him so enamored – or had Dirk always been this way, his fear giving way to a simmering pride and excitement as the days passed, and this was the flame that brought him to a full boil? “Two whole nations, plus one.”

“…We’ll try,” Jane said, but he shook his head.

“Nah. We’ll do it alright, you’ll see.” Dirk looked up at her, and in his eyes there was a spark of something, perhaps what made the stars shine bright in the night sky. “We’re just that awesome.”

~*~

Instead of dread, the weeks leading up to the Battle of Life were full of a different kind of anticipation, the one that both humans and trolls felt as they lay in bed the night before a great change; the first day of a new school year or new job, the beginning of a long trip to move to a new town, things that spoke of uncertainty for those involved. It was by no means bad uncertainty, for it kept blood hot and wits sharp, generating a buzz of excitement. Relief waited for them at the end of this battle, of that all were certain and desperate for.

For Feferi, this feeling lay heavy on her shoulders and lengthened those days to near torture.

She _knew_ there was no other way for this battle to go. As much as Jane spent time with her going over tactics and back-up plans, the physical toll of a wiggler inside of her became more obvious with each passing day. Feferi would see her wincing as she rubbed her back, or asking if they could stay seated while they planned as she propped up swelling feet, and walking with slow shuffles despite her energy pushing against her physical limits, urging her to be involved in every little thing. Even marching up the mountain might be too hard for the Queen when the time came, and the prospect of meeting the Beforan that waited for her on that fateful day alone made a deathly chill settle in Feferi’s bones.

But… _but_ …wasn’t this her duty? Did she not have an obligation to the future of these two nations peopled by her kin and the kin of her friends? Did they not have a right to live in peace? If they divided now, peace would never come, Feferi knew this in the very core of her being.

Some scholars of trollkind’s hemospectrum would call it an urging of Feferi’s place on the hemospectrum left over from eons of breeding her caste specifically for leadership, and her use of it a gross understatement of its true potential. Feferi didn’t have a name for it, this desire that took hold of her fears and shook them until they silenced. All she knew was that it never failed to arise whenever anxiety clawed its way out of the darkest recesses of her mind, clearing her head to see what was really important.

The day before the battle had been spent in a hush, all eyes turned towards the mountain, thin blades of young grass beginning to sprout on its surface. It was too much like when they had arrived, with spring adding an edge of warmth to the air that couldn’t quite be reached, and Feferi couldn’t stand it. As the moon rose over the land that night, she lay before her tower in the grass corridor and looked up through the glass ceiling, eyes filled with the sight of the uncountable, infinite stars.

Nearby, a door creaked open. Grass crunched underfoot.

“…You’re going to be awfully tired in the morning if you don’t go to sleep soon, you know.”

Feferi glanced over. It was Jane who had found her, a weary smile on her face and hands resting atop her belly. The troll sat up.

“So are you.”

“I’d be tired in the morning if I had gone to sleep at sunset,” Jane said. She made her way to the wall and leaned on it, breathing a sigh of relief. “Sleep is impossible for the both of us, I suppose. Given what tomorrow is and all.”

Tyrian eyes flickered back up to the stars, and were soon joined by cyan. “I guess so. But I don’t feel nervous or anyfin.”

“You don’t?”

“Not at all.” Leaning back on one hand, Feferi reached up with the other, stretching her fingers towards the stars. They seemed to outline her hand perfectly, a sharp silhouette against pinpricks of light. “I think that was everyone’s problem. They sank in their nerves instead of swam, and ended up drowning. They got overwhelmed.” Her outstretched hand curled into a fist, and she cradled it to her chest. “It can happen to anyone, but we can’t let its waves overwhelm _us_ , too.”

Jane hummed in response. “You know…when this is over…I want to repay you for stepping up and taking so much of the responsibility. I just don’t know how I could. Is there anything you want, Feferi? Anything at all?”

There was a lull between them as Feferi mulled over her words. “I’m…I’m not _shore_ ,” she said at last. “There’s lots of things that I _want_ , but I don’t know if they’re things _you_ could give me. I want Sollux to wake up, and…I’d like to have a moray-eel again, if there’s one out in the sea for me. I want to see our fronds again.” Her eyes closed, and even in the dark Jane could see tears beading at the corners. “I know we said we wouldn’t do it anymore, and we made laws against it and everyfin, but…would it really be bad if we brought our friends back?”

“Feferi-”

“It _wouldn’t_ be like what the Cherubs did,” She insisted, “We won’t make new people out of the blue. We’ll bring our _actual_ friends back, with their _actual_ memories. They can live their lives fully and happily. Isn’t that better than leaving them in jars?” There was a sniffle, and Feferi scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “You and I _have_ the power. We could _do_ it. Just _once_. You said it yourshellf, you want to repay me, and that’s what I want more than _anyfin!!_ ” She was sobbing now, truly sobbing, and something hot and bitter rose on the back of Jane’s tongue. “I-I want to look at the stars with everybuoy again,” Feferi cried, “Why can’t we? Why _naut?_ ”

Why not? There were so many reasons why not! Neither of them knew exactly how to resurrect anyone, and had never done so – bar Jane’s drastic and unique experience with Dirk – making it risky to attempt and foolish to expect the results they wanted to come of their actions! Not to mention the trouble she’d been thrown into by leaving the option of resurrection literally open. And how could any of them be sure that ‘just once’ didn’t turn into ‘just once more’, or ‘par the course for all time’?

It was too much to say at once, and none of it would be heard through Feferi’s tears. Jane sighed and pushed off the wall, feeling her way back towards the exit. “I don’t…let me think about it, okay? Let tomorrow come, let our victory come, and then I’ll think about it. Please, don’t _guilt_ me, Feferi, I…I can’t. I simply can’t…!”

Close to tears herself, the young Queen left Lady Peixes to her thoughts and retreated to her caravan for a weak and fitful sleep. The warmth of her family did nothing to soothe her, and the babe wriggled restlessly, insisting on attention. Jane couldn’t count the times she left her loft to walk around the caravan, desperate to tire herself, pressing back against her belly wherever she was poked or prodded.

The baby finally settled in the early dawn, when the light of the sun shone wan and grey in the east. Too late to fall asleep, too early to begin the march, Jane rummaged quietly in the caravan for something to eat, just to tide her over until breakfast. She had taken to keeping snacks there – not cookies or cake or things other people would consider snacks worth hiding, but mostly vegetables that kept well in the dry, cool compartments of the caravan, sometimes fruit if it was available. Sometimes she wondered if she was pregnant with a rabbit rather than a baby; no matter what was on hand, the food she went to first was carrots, a little urge in the back of her tongue begging for their sweet taste. Quick enough, Jane pulled a carrot from her stash and stepped outside, not wanting her every bite to wake her brother and cousins. The grounds were still and chilly that morning, not cloud nor breath of wind in the sky; Jane could see the first thin curls of smoke rising from chimneys in town, probably from bakeries making their daily wares, but the streetlights had been snuffed out. The castle, their stone citadel against the mountainside, stood proud with its twelve towers and great peaked center, and Jane could hardly believe that just a year ago she came upon it as an unfinished promise of home.

A twinkle caught her eye in one of the towers. It was Feferi’s, judging by its position, and a light had been brought into the uppermost room. So she was awake, then, surely getting ready for battle – and probably sore with Jane for how she’d acted in the night. It wouldn’t be right not to apologize, Jane thought. Maybe she had overreacted to the troll’s request. It was certainly worth a thought or two. Perhaps they could talk about it before battle, right now even, and clear the air. Yes, that would be perfect! With this thought energizing her, Jane started for the castle.

She did not get far, however, when she noticed that something was wrong.

Along the length of the grounds there were gashes, sets of three parallel swipes that tore up the grass and dirt. When Jane squinted ahead at the castle door, she saw those same marks on the front door, heavy and durable though it was. She felt the back of her neck prickle.

“That…wasn’t there yesterday,” She said to herself, and pressed onward.

The moment she opened the castle doors, Jane felt herself grow cold. Never had she seen such a display of disarray and destruction; the round table of the throne room had been overturned, its chairs thrown this way and that, and one of the doors to the grass corridor had been yanked off of its hinges, abandoned on the floor. Inside, Jane could see the jagged edges of the glass ceiling, shards littering the grass, with the door to Feferi’s tower left hanging by a single hinge. Heavy dread dropped into the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, God,” Jane muttered, and she hurried forward, taking the tower steps two at a time. “Oh God, oh Feferi, oh God – Feferi!!”

No answer. Her breath turned ragged but still Jane climbed, half-crawling by the time she reached the top and skirting the abandoned door left on the steps. Her vision swam as she grasped the door frame, heaving for air and calling to her partner in the Art of Life, but still the troll did not answer her. It could be possible that Feferi wasn’t here, that the destruction was a trail away from the room instead of a trail towards it, that someone had scaled the tower to ambush her and she’d fought them off and out to the grounds –

All possibility of that vanished the moment Jane’s vision cleared.

Before her was a scene of gore unlike any she had ever witnessed. Tyrian blood, still glistening and damp, had sprayed on the walls and floor, and sprawled out on her chaise was Feferi…or, her body at least, for the three puncture wounds in her chest and the glassy sheen of her eyes were all that one needed to see to know that Feferi was no longer among the living. Blood had dripped down her body to pool on the floor, in her splayed hair, and one hand still clenched around her weapon of choice, a large double sided trident. Could Jane be blamed for the vomit that rose up in her throat, not at any smells but at the sight of such carnage? She fell to her knees and threw up spit and carrot, her mind racing. There was only one person who could have done such an awful thing, only one person who had the motive for it, and that person was the very Beforan Jane now had to face on her own.

After the contents of her stomach were emptied upon the floor and the dry heaves subsided, Jane managed to crawl to Feferi’s side, taking slow, deep breaths. Yes, this was Meenah’s work, no doubt about it. The punctures fit the width and size of her odd trident, as did all the scratches and scrapes that had adorned the walls and doors and ground along the way. Perhaps she had thought to eliminate some of her competition before the battle began. But why?

The answer came in the kicks and fidgets of the baby. Jane pressed a protective hand to her belly. “What if,” She muttered to herself, “The Beforans…planned for me to be pregnant…by the time of the Battle of Life? To keep me from fighting?” The very thought settled in her mind, and every emotion within her turned to icy fury.

With gentlest touch Jane closed Feferi’s eyes, and then with a bit of strength she pried the troll’s trident from the hold of rigor mortis. There was no time to return to the caravan and get her own trident. She dug the tines into the ground and hefted herself up to her feet, her eyes falling upon one of the tower’s windows. It happened to look out upon the domed mountain, and at the peak, Jane could just make out a distinct blot of a body. Watching. Waiting.

But not for long.

Fueled by pure tenacity, Jane nearly threw herself down the tower and out of the castle, climbing the mountain with the aid of Feferi’s trident as a sort of staff, steadying her as her legs burned and her feet pulsed with pain. With each step the sun climbed with her, the light of morning slowly creeping across the land. Below, in the other castle towers and the caravans, the others were surely waking. It wouldn’t be long before they came across what she did, and soon after they would tear their way up the mountain to stop her, knowing where their missing Queen had to have gone. A twinge of guilt clung to her at the thought of breaking her promise to Dirk not to fight, but what else could she do?

Meenah was indeed the one who waited for Jane at the top of the mountain, in the same grey cloak she had worn when she first appeared in her assault of the castle, albeit stained with blood, Feferi’s blood. She sat quietly and did not rise, did not spring into a battle stance, but instead regarded Jane with quiet indifference, as if she merely waited for the panting human to leave so her view of the coming morn could go on undisturbed. Finally, she sighed and patted the grass.

“Sit a spell, guppy,” She said, her voice lacking in its usual verve, “You’re lookin’ like you’re aboat to float belly up.”

Something about her calm, her innocent offer, set Jane’s body on edge. She hefted the trident from the ground and leveled the tines at Meenah. “You are in _no_ position to tell me what to do!” Jane said. It took every ounce of strength within her not to let her legs wobble. “I saw what you did to Feferi, and I know why you did it, too – your lot _wanted_ me to surrender, to be in a condition where it was almost guaranteed I wouldn’t fight!”

A single pearly eye flickered to Jane, the eyebrow above it rising. “And…lemme guess. We was shella wrong on that one, right?”

“Well of course you were!” Jane didn’t care that she bared her teeth, or that her arms began to tremble under the weight of Feferi’s weapon. “Did your Benefactor _really_ think I wouldn’t fight to avenge my friend after seeing what you’d done to her? It was essentially an assassination, and a right dirty trick at that!! I’ll never stand by and let that happen if it’s my responsibility to do something about it!!!”

Meenah heaved another sigh and reached into her cloak. Jane tensed, waiting for any sudden movement, but instead of attacking, the troll tossed something towards her. It was her odd trident, and it skidded to a stop at Jane’s feet.

“There,” Meenah said, “I’m unarmed and junk. Sit your bass down and lemme glub with you all the somethin’s ‘boat the Benefactor I know.”

Jane looked from Meenah to the discarded weapon with increasing suspicion. This didn’t add up, not at all. Why would a troll so active in and behind the scenes of this war work so hard to stack the deck against her only to throw in the towel? “What’s the catch?” Jane asked, pushing Meenah’s weapon back with her foot. The troll smiled.

“Knew you wasn’t no dim bulb, guppy – you’re seein’ my hook, but you ain’t bitin’ onto it until you know where the line goes. Well, I’ll tell ya. You wanna know the skinny on the Benefactor, and I…” She paused to lick her lips, her eyes sliding closed. “I want an out.”

“…An out?”

“I wanna be _dead_ ,” Meenah stressed, “I’m done with this shit, done like salmon so burnt ya gotta call it charcoal. Ain’t that what you want, too?”

The way she said it, so hollow and biting, made Jane more confused than ever. “You’re not making any sense,” She said.

“Maybe I’ll be makin’ some sense if you sit ‘n listen to me, cod, ever think a that?”

That…was true. There was the possibility of an explanation if Jane took Meenah up on her offer. When the others came, it was highly unlikely they would be in the mood to take the time to listen. Then again, what did Jane owe this troll, this murderer, this enemy of the state – nothing, least of all her time! But if she killed Meenah now, not only did the troll get what she apparently wanted, but Jane got no explanation, and curiosity bubbled forth in her mind despite her misgivings.

Slowly, with the help of Feferi’s trident, Jane sat down next to Meenah. The Beforan chuckled softly.

“Knew you’d come ‘round, guppy. I really appreciate it.”

Jane sniffed. “Your appreciations don’t do much to make up for your actions. Go on, explain yourself, and then I’ll give you what you want.”

Pearly eyes cracked open to pair with a sly smirk. “Aiight, then. Down to bu-sea-ness. So, for starters, your lot knows aboat all that reincarnation carp and the Cherubs, yeah?” Meenah jabbed a thumb at her chest. “Well, those Beforan Generals you’ve been fightin’, and yours truly, we was one of those sets of trolls. Not the first – not the original ones. The group right after, servin’ our own version of you ‘n all your little human friends way back in ye olden days.”

A shiver ran down Jane’s spine. “…I can’t say I’m…entirely surprised. Your compatriots looked exactly like mine. But that doesn’t explain how you can be alive _now_.”

Meenah shrugged. “Shell if I know the hows. Alls I remember is dyin’, and then wakin’ up again like this.” She pointed to her eyes. “No pupils or color or nothin’, so it’s not really bein’ alive. The Benefactor brought us back, said we was like ghosts in suits of armor or some shit. It ain’t armor, though, it’s pretty much flesh ‘n blood, but that’s somethin’ else entirely.” A hand came up to scratch the back of her head, where Meenah’s braids began. “That Benefactor…he can do things I can’t even…there’s no name for it. ‘S like, you know the Arts? He’s got his fingers in all a them, like some jack of all trades kinda deal, but he’s not a master of any one.”

Not a master…but able to wield every Art? And with enough proficiency to coax the dead into living form…that was still something to fear. “Exactly _how_ did the Benefactor know of you to bring you back? I remember meeting you and Damara both well before the Cherubim’s secrets were uncovered, and I know I’m not mistaken.”

“Nah, you ain’t. That was us.” Meenah groaned as she stretched out her legs before her, her bones creaking as she rolled her ankles. “That Benefactor…he brought us back shella long ago. He’s been around even longer. Can’t say how long exactly, but he’s gotta be as old as the Cherubs were – he ain’t a Cherub,” She added, catching Jane’s expression of horror, “I don’t know what he is, ‘cause he ain’t troll nor human neither. He just _is_ , and the motherglubber knows way too much to not have been chummy with the Cherubs at some point. One day, couple a years back, we all got rounded up by Megido to meet him way down south, and he said we had a debt to pay.”

Jane placed the clue of ‘way down south’ in a safe corner of her mind to mull over later. “A debt…for bringing you back to life?”

“He said if we fought in somethin’ he was cookin’ up, it’d be worth our lives,” She answered. “We tried to krill him, of course, but we got schooled real good. Didn’t help that Megido sided with him, said we owed him big time.”

Another piece of the puzzle – why would Damara be so adamant that her former friends follow this Benefactor if they wanted nothing to do with him, to the point of fighting back when he propositioned them? Is that where she could have gone when she disappeared from Caliborn’s caravan all those years ago, to the waiting embrace of the Benefactor? She had been not only complicit, but obedient to the Lord’s whims…but had that been an order from the Benefactor all along? Jane’s mind spun with the possibilities. “So…you want an out,” She said, “But you’re at the end of your service. Why die now?”

With a sigh, Meenah flopped back onto the grass, her arms spread out on either side. “I’m _tired_ , guppy,” She said, “Tired and glubbin’ _sad_. Ain’t you been listenin’? All them Generals you fought and beat back were my _fronds_ – even _Megido_ , backstabber she was. We sailed the roughest waters together in that first life, got torn up by wars ‘n shit we couldn’t ever control, and just when we finally think the storm’s over, turns out we’re only in the eye and the next wave just…comes up and swallows _everybuoy_.” Meenah sniffled and wiped her eyes. The slightest trail of tyrian trickled from their corners. “Aranea Serket, you saw what I did to her…I’ve krilled ‘n maimed ‘n broken so much, but nofin hurts worse than doin’ it to the gal you want in every quadrant like a desperate fool. Not a fin. Why follow through ‘n live when everyfin worth livin’ for is dead?”

There was one thing Meenah had right – she had killed and maimed and broken quite a lot in the year Jane had seen her in action. If she had been selling weapons long in Derse before they first met, she was probably responsible for supplying murderers, criminals, bounty hunters, gangs, whole swaths of the population with implements of pain and destruction. And who knew what she might’ve done in that past life of hers! Yet…Jane felt sorrow for this troll. She felt pity. Despite her better judgment, her heart throbbed with something sympathetic, something willing to give her enemy the mercy she begged for.

“’S all some game to the Benefactor,” Meenah continued, “We’re all his prawns, and I’m sick to glubbin’ _death_ of it.”

“…I know,” Jane said, her hands tightening on Feferi’s trident. “So are we.”

“End it, then. Get to the end of the board. Put him in checkmate or whatever, beat him at his own game. I’m leavin’ it open for you, guppy, take the win. I took so much, I’m done takin’.”

It was too easy. Too simple. Too obvious a trap.

Jane pushed herself to her feet. “It’s going to hurt, you know.”

“It’ll be a good hurt.”

She lifted the trident out of the dirt and took cautious steps towards Meenah’s prone form. “Was there an original plan to kill Feferi and goad me to come here?”

“Pretty much.”

“You didn’t have to go through with the first part.” The tines were leveled above Meenah’s chest, just above her heart. “You could have let Feferi live.”

“I couldn’t. It’s a natural urge for trolls, krillin’ our own blood. My caste used to rule the reef, guppy, and there’d only be the two of us, Empress and Heiress. I woulda had to snuff my ancestor to even get close to the throne, and I woulda done it with a coddamn smile on my face.”

The tines shook. In the distance, Jane could swear she heard voices, thin and far away and calling her name, but she only had eyes for the Beforan. “You’re despicable.”

“Kinda makes us similar, though. You’re krillin’ me to keep your place.” Meenah smiled. “I liked you, guppy, from the moment I first saw you. Knew you’d grow up to be a boss bass bea-”

The words on Meenah’s tongue were replaced by a sharp intake of breath, of blood bubbling forth from her lips and her eyes rolling back into her head. The tines of Feferi’s trident had pierced her through, splattering Jane with tyrian. She leaned all her weight onto the weapon, gritting her teeth against the writhes and groans of the troll beneath her. The blood ran down the domed mountain, soaked up by the dirt and grass, even as Meenah finally stilled, her pained face smoothing to one of peace. She was dead, and with her the war was over.

Jane made to pull the trident from Meenah’s body, but her arms became heavy, her hands clumsy. Both legs shook violently from the effort it took to stay upright, and she sunk to her knees. All of a sudden, it was as if Jane had been stabbed through, and she found it difficult to draw breath, the world around her beginning to spin. It seemed that her sleepless night and frantic morning had finally caught up to her, for Jane slumped over just as a voice called out to her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would think that this would be the second to last chapter, right? That with the war over, all that's left is to wrap things up.
> 
> But we ain't done yet, motherglubbers. Aw shell no. We're just getting started.


	17. Red

The Art of Life is as resilient as what it serves. In its history, those who wielded its magnificent power have rarely had the choice to die. Death had either been forced upon them by Cherubic whims or come so suddenly that the wielder could not react in time to save themselves. Feferi had been ambushed, too caught up in the shock and pain to react accordingly, and Meenah had embraced her end like an old friend, one of the few who met it with no qualms.

Jane was by no means dead, and though her exertion would have meant trouble for her pregnancy, the baby too was fine. Life, in this case, had a mind of its own, working double time to soothe her pains and aches and reinforcing the strength in her body. Sleep helped, allowing her to remain still as Life did its duty, but that did not make her sleep restful. For however long her eyes were closed, one dream plagued her consciousness relentlessly. It began in blackness, and she floated in silence for what felt like ages. All she could hear were the mechanisms of her own body; the rush of air in her lungs with each breath, the rhythm of her heart, the groaning of her insides. The more time that passed, the more a scream pressed at her throat, begging to be released, so long as it stopped the noises for a moment, but the creak of her own jaw sent shivers up her spine.

The moment it was finally too much to bear brought a sudden heaviness to her limbs, and Jane began to plummet. White ribbons streaked across the expanse to wrap around her, starting at her feet and winding around her legs, binding her together. That was when she heard a voice.

**mine**

She struggled against the bonds with dwindling might, tearing at them with her hands until they too were pinned to her sides.

**MINE**

The ribbons wrapped around her throat, cutting off her breath, and she opened her mouth to scream. The ribbons stuff themselves inside, and only then did she know that these were not ribbons – they were cotton bandages.

**_MINE_ **

That last exclamation would echo through her consciousness until it all faded to black, and the nightmare began anew. Countless times was she mummified, countless times did the horrible voice proclaim its ownership of her, unfamiliar and yet bringing with it a bone-chilling sense of déjà-vu. It was as if there was no relief in sight, and that this dream was her true reality…that is, until she finally screamed. The sound was so unfamiliar to her, muffled by bandages, but it was loud and shook in her chest, and all at once the bandages were gone, the darkness lightened, her eyes open to the world.

At first, Jane lay in silence, barely comprehending her surroundings. All she could understand was that she was no longer in her dream, though her limbs were still locked in place as if the bandages had remained. With each breath, difficult though they were to take, she felt her muscles relax and loosen, and a sense of rational thought settled into her mind. The ceiling above was cast in shadow, but there was a distinct pinkness to it, dusky and soft in a way that clicked itself into her memory. It was the curtain for the center room of the castle’s second floor. But…how could she be here? Hadn’t she been on the mountain just a moment ago, clutching desperately to the weapon of a departed friend as it pierced her killer? And since when had there been anything so comfortable in that center room, let alone such warm blankets?

It was her thirst for answers that gave Jane the strength to push herself into a sitting position. Whatever she laid on was firm yet forgiving, like a new mattress, and she pulled the blanket down into her lap, a heavy quilt of white. She was in a bed, she realized, placed near enough to the empty hearth that it could be warmed on cold nights. It was one of the only pieces of furniture set up in the room, for the remaining space was filled with trunks and bags, some of which she recognized from her palace in Prospit. She moved her hand to lean over and look around the rest of the room, but she stopped as her fingers brushed something smooth and warm.

Jane turned. There, slumped over with his head in his arms and his arms folded on the edge of the bed, was Dirk. He sat on a rough wooden stool, probably borrowed from one of the workmen, and though Jane couldn’t see his eyes, she noticed his spectacles abandoned on the floor beside him and the slow, even sound of his breath. He was asleep, and deeply so, but for how long? Immediately Jane looked to her stomach, the cold weight of panic settling in her body, but nothing about her had changed. As if sensing her apprehension, the babe squirmed within her, and after a moment gave a swift little kick.

A laugh stirred in Jane’s chest. How could it not? For all the trouble she’d gone through on the domed mountain, it seemed that she had emerged from it unscathed it unscathed. It was nothing short of an impossible miracle, and she laughed and laughed and wiped her tearing eyes, stopping only when she heard Dirk’s breath catch, and he lifted his head with a grimace. The pattern of the quilt had left an imprint on the side of his face, and he blinked blearily at Jane once, twice. The third time, his eyes widened, and he sat up so fast that he nearly fell back off of his stool.

“Jane…!” He wavered precariously, latching onto the quilt to keep himself steady. “Up, you’re up…holy shit, you’re up, _Jane_ -” She reached out to help him, concern quelling her relief, but he ignored her hands in favor of climbing upon the bed and sweeping her into a tight embrace. He hid his eyes in the crook of her neck. “Fuck, I was so worried…so _worried_ , Jane, I didn’t know what to do, I thought we were going to lose you…”

Dumbfounded, all Jane could do was hug Dirk in return. His words became an incoherent string of sounds, his hands firm and gentle as he pulled back to hold her face, his thumbs brushing reverently against the curve of her cheeks. The bags under his eyes were deep and dark. “Why…did you think I’d be lost?” Jane asked. Dirk bowed his head.

“Because I’m stupid and dumb and I haven’t thought straight for the past three days, that’s why.”

“…That wouldn’t be how long I was sleeping for, was it?”

“Uh, yeah, pretty much.”

She felt the heat drain from her face. “Are you serious? Why didn’t someone try to wake me sooner?!”

“We _did_ ,” Dirk said, “Or, well, _I_ did. I _have_ been, I yelled and screamed until I exhausted myself, but you never woke up, not even for a second.” His eyes closed, and he shook his head. “You were completely unconscious, but I couldn’t bring myself to give up. Not when we had gotten to the end.”

Pressure welled up in Jane’s chest. She brought her hands up to cover Dirk’s. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry for going up the mountain after I said I wouldn’t fight, I just…saw Feferi, and I knew I couldn’t _not_ -”

Dirk inhaled sharply. He brought his head forward, resting his forehead on Jane’s chest. “I know,” He said, “I saw. We all saw what happened to Feferi and ran for the mountain as fast as we could.” He paused to breathe, his hands finally lowering as they slipped out of her grasp. “Saw what you did, though. It, uh…didn’t look like that much of a fight up there.”

Her hands fell to his, their fingers intertwining. Jane didn’t know why their hands seemed to play cat and mouse; she just couldn’t bear the thought of not touching some part of Dirk, of not knowing he was here in front of her and that this space and moment were real. “It wasn’t,” She said, “Meenah… _wanted_ to die.”

She explained what she had learned to Dirk with all she could honestly remember, what the Beforan troll had said of her origins and the actions of her Benefactor, her reasoning, his apparent location in the southern Scratchlands. Jane could feel Dirk’s fingers twitch at that, and already she could picture a plan beginning to hatch in his mind to scour every inch of the land to the south until they pulled this Benefactor kicking and screaming from his hiding place.

In return, Dirk told her of the events of the past three days. Feferi had been cremated and enshrined with their other fallen friends, while Meenah’s body had been transported from the mountain to the unused caravan of the Prospit trolls, examined by the ever-loyal doctor and a number of their own. They had been able to determine that, while extremely lifelike, the Beforan corpse was comprised of grey clay, inside of which had been found ground fragments of stilbite – one of the stones that had been used in the subjugation of court and countrymen by the Cherubim, specifically for Feferi. The blood that still dripped from Meenah’s body, however, was actual blood, according to a somewhat disturbing test from Kanaya, making for a very strange circumstance indeed. No one was sure just what it meant, but there was no doubt that the Benefactor’s apparent attempt at resurrection was at the heart of it.

“The furniture also came up,” Dirk added, as if the urge to add news a bit more concrete nagged at his mind. “Uh, yesterday, actually. I had you brought up here so…um…so I could wait for you to wake up without bothering your brother and cousins. I think John was going to eventually punch me in the face if I kept spending the night sitting outside the caravan like a kicked puppy with a masochistic streak.”

A pink flush rose up in Dirk’s cheeks, one that kindled suspicion in Jane. “You…stayed at my side? All this time?”

He chuckled and lifted his head. “Like I said, I couldn’t lose you, not when we’re at the end. Wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were gone. But, y’know, I just kept telling myself…” Slowly, Dirk pulled one of his hands away from Jane’s. It hovered hesitantly before he rested it on her belly. “I’d tell myself…hey, stop being a self-pitying asshole. You can literally feel this kid kickboxing in here. Wherever Jane is, she can feel it too, and…after all the bullshit and blood and tears we’ve marched right on through, is she gonna slip off into the great beyond before she can see him? Hold him? Tell him off for being an annoying brat trying to tenderize her insides? There’s no way she’ll do that. She’ll pull through, because she’s strong and stubborn down to her bones. And…I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thought that gave me any hope.”

The pair locked eyes for a moment. Hers were still clouded with the remnants of sleep, his ached and stung from lack of rest, but both shone with something that couldn’t rightly be explained. It had to be felt, deep in the pit of one’s soul, and shared with another in order to be understood between the two of them. In that moment, both Jane and Dirk knew that there was so much more left to their lives, so much lifted off of their shoulders with these battles behind them, and there was so much work ahead.

“I want to marry you,” Jane said. The words slipped passed her lips like a soft wind, but from the way Dirk stilled, they held the force of a typhoon. “I’d do it this very moment if I could. Damn the world, damn their opinions, I’ll go down the aisle in that bedsheet dress you made me if I have to, because I want something _happy_ , Dirk…and the only bit of happiness I can think of at this very moment is facing every sunrise with my hand in yours. As awful as things have been, don’t we deserve to smile? Don’t we need to show unity now that the Beforans are gone?”

The words hung in the air for barely a breath before Dirk leaned forward, catching Jane’s mouth with his own. “Yeah,” He whispered, and when he kissed her again, she pressed back, a sweet flush spreading through her body. “Alright. Let’s put a date on this thing, then. Let’s make it soon.”

“Before-” Another kiss, this one longer, sent shivers down Jane’s spine. When was the last time they had kissed like this, all emotion and simmering heat? “Before the baby comes…”

Dirk hummed in agreement, and he wrapped his arms around her in an embrace, pulling them closer together.”Puts us…on one hell of a deadline…” His next kiss lingered on her bottom lip. “Think we can make it?”

“I think we can do _any_ thing,” Jane said, and though she chuckled after, she did mean it. She sighed as Dirk’s fingers found the nape of her neck. “I – I think we should _try_.”

“Trying and doing are totally different things, Jane.”

“Mm…I’m _aware_ …”

They continued like this for a bit, quips whispered between each press of lips, their world turning hazy around the edges. It was more than enough to drive Jane’s nightmares away, for what horror in the world could ever exist, what force could ensnare her when she loved so strongly and that love was returned?

There was only one moment of doubt, and that was when Jane’s hands fell to Dirk’s waist. The touch seemed to jolt him to awareness, and he pulled back immediately, scrambling off the bed. “Hold on,” He mumbled, “Hold on one second…”

Her brow furrowed immediately. “Dirk…what’re you doing? What’s wrong?”

He simply waved at her, opening the door to the outside. He looked right, left, right again. “Just making sure…we’ve got absolute privacy.”

With that he shut the door, and it locked behind him with a click.

~*~

The news of an impending wedding within a definite amount of time is usually met with frenzied excitement and euphoric joy, not only for the bride and groom but for their families and friends. A wedding of monarchs has this times one hundred, for the unpredictable public is also sent into emotions of their own, and fellow heads of state are known to gossip amongst themselves concerning pairings and alliances as if it were a spectator sport.

For the wedding of Prospit and Derse, however, all of those involved exuded something like unmitigated anxiety within a pressure cooker of calm. The event rode on the coattails of a strange yet successful war, which, in its wake, dealt the dissention in both nations a devastating blow, scattering any remnants to the precipice of the world’s reality. In this soon to be joined land, the only place a troll and human would be treated as equals was on its streets and in its institutions. Those here wanted to work for peace and unity, and any band that forged into the outside world to carve a new kingdom for itself would have to contend with forces of greater number, armies and masses of mobs with torches and pitchforks spouting ideologies that would scour them from the planet. The promises of the Beforans were empty with their defeat, and if Prospit and Derse were so keen on unification, well, it would be better to lobby for change with the monarchs who would treat them with respect than with contempt.

This change in thought was not as swift as the news of the royal wedding, but on its wings it spread, carried like seeds and left to flourish in the masses wherever they dropped. Groups of trolls and humans came together to discuss their ideologies and examine their histories. Those who had been afraid to speak against any who lobbied for the Beforan agenda now beat a path to the door to the Scratchlands castle, begging to join the army and root out the remainder of the group that had tried so desperately to tear the countries apart – and join they did, in remarkable numbers. They were quickly assigned to a mission that both monarchs placed as much importance on as their wedding: the capture of the Benefactor. As dates were set and ceremonies planned, the royal soldiers that had stayed steadfast at the castle led the new recruits south, and they would be far, far away by the time of the wedding.

But _when_ was this grand affair to take place? What day would bells toll throughout both kingdoms to mark the occasion? It had been a simple enough decision to make. By a rough estimate and according to medical knowledge, Jane’s pregnancy would only last for another three months or so. The amount of planning and detail of the ceremony, expedited by the assistance of family and friends (who were desperately in need of a distraction, all hollow and sad in their own ways), could be fitted into a little less than two months. Another month would be needed to finalize the paperwork of unification, streamlining laws and reorganizing civil strata; outposts of authority would need to be determined, humans paired and trolls spread evenly throughout to create a web of rule and a structure of hierarchy. With all of that on their plates, no one could think of a better time for the wedding to fall than at the end of spring.

Perhaps it was because of the literal buzz of activity, or perhaps it was a miracle – or, perhaps, the power of the Beforans had simply faded from the land – but during this planning, on the anniversary of the Battle of Time, an unimaginable thing happened, as unexpected as it was amazing.

Lord Sollux Captor woke up.

For these many months he had slept, his breath and heartbeat constant, alive and yet in the guise of death. On that strange and spectacular day, the order came down for the doctor to take some much-needed time off, and Aradia had taken their place at Sollux’s side. The Derse Troll’s caravan was practically empty now, save for the dusty bed he’d been laid up in and a single chair beside it.  Feet propped up on the edge of that bed, Aradia stared coolly at her comatose quadrantmate.

“It’s John and Jane’s birthday today, you know,” She said aloud, “There’s going to be cake tonight. Not grubcake or beetlecrunch cake, just…regular cake. Which I guess isn’t so bad.”

Sollux snorted lightly in response. Aradia shrugged.

“Really, it isn’t. Not everybody likes grubs or beetles in their cakes, it’s a preference. And you know, I’ve never tried a ‘red velvet’ cake before. Apparently it’s not even made with real velvet! How weird is that? But it’s really getting popular back in Derse. There’s shops springing up where you can buy red velvet versions of any kind of sweet you can think of.”

Another snort. This one was tinged with a soft crackle; that was Sollux’s psiionics. They fizzed sometimes, possibly because of how much he damaged them in his battle, and his control over them was impaired. Aradia tried to smile through her wince.

“No, I didn’t ask if they made red velvet honeybee clusters. Considering that the main components of those are honey and bees, I’m not sure how you could do that. Maybe if you made it into a bread of some kind? Red velvet bee bread? Oh, but you’d have to be sure you took all the stingers out before you could sell it, right?”

A funny tingle tugged at Aradia’s hair. She shook her head to brush it off.

“Humans might actually eat it if it was red velvet, though. Bugs put them off to a lot of stuff, but they seem to like this new red velvet food. What a weird trend, eating red things, right?”

The tingle tugged again, this time stronger. Aradia brought her hand up to comb through her hair, convinced that a bug had fallen into it, but instead of something squirming to free itself, she felt the distinct twinge of psiionics and the messy bumps of a braid. She froze in place.

“…Sollux?”

From the troll on the bed came the slightest of movements: a shift of the head towards her and the opening of eyes, just enough to see a sleepy gleam to their surface, white and black where red and blue once shone.

“AA.”

The nickname was more of a rasp of breath than an uttered word, like cotton balls were stuffed in Sollux’s mouth, but he had indeed spoken. Aradia leapt out of her chair to give him the tightest, most powerful hug in all of his life, and the chair clattered to the floor in her wake. It was not long after that she burst into the castle with Sollux on her back, hollering for everyone to come and say hello to him, the biggest smile on her face.

For the most part, Sollux was perfectly fine, albeit greatly lethargic and severely weakened in his psiionic capabilities. As the days passed, it was clear that he’d become a touch forgetful in the wake of his brain damage, but this did not seem to bother him. In fact, he did not even find it remarkable that a blank space or two in his memory was the least of his worries. His words, few and far between and still with that unmistakable lisp, were apathetic to their very core, and he spent most days lost in thought, never leaving Aradia’s side. What exactly those thoughts comprised of, none could really say. He did, however, become engrossed in what had become Aradia’s pet project, her study of ghosts and her attempts to make contact with them. During mealtimes they spoke in hushed tones, allowing snippets of theories to be caught by attentive ears. It was all interesting stuff to be sure, and Jane took what little bits she heard and stored them in the recesses of her mind for later. She could ask Aradia and Sollux all about their ponderings of ghosts and the lines between worlds when there wasn’t a wedding on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter, but it's here for you nonetheless. Let it tide you over until the next one, which should be much longer and much more eventful.
> 
> Trust me on that.


	18. Maid

Slowly but surely, the warmth of spring settled upon the Scratchlands. The last of winter’s bite was driven back by budding flowers and bright, fresh leaves as they opened up to greet the sun. The days grew in length, fighting back the darkness of night, and the grass on the domed mountain became green and thick once more. Truly there was no better season for a royal wedding.

The promised day came with cloudless skies and birdsong, and the inhabitants of the castle were already bustling about at the crack of dawn. The throne room had been decorated simply, a long red rug from the stairs to the thrones the finest adornment, while flowers of all kinds and colors flanked its sides. Seats had been circled around the thrones, enough only for the royal family and the court, both present and gone. Despite having sent a multitude of invitations, no dignitary from any other land had promised to join them. The most any of them sent in return were clipped congratulations and a small gift, suggesting disapproval on one hand and a begrudging acceptance of the legitimacy of the union on the other.

Jane tried not to dwell on it. She had been roused very early and brought to the ladies’ suite, where Jade and Rose and Roxy insisted on helping her get ready. The help was by no means unappreciated; these last three months of pregnancy had made even simple movements difficult, her belly in the way of every little thing and the babe a constant press against her insides, wriggling with impatience in his now cramped quarters. Still, Jane found herself excited as she dressed, chatting happily with the other girls. They were all dressed in pearly pink gowns with little accents of their favorite colors, and they were more than happy to help her into her own. Her gown was startlingly simple for a Queen, loose and white and tied under her bust with a cyan sash. The vibrant blue was embroidered along the hems and edges, curling up into dramatic sprigs of color, and her skirt just brushed the floor. The only queenly thing she wore was her golden circlet, its single larimar stone resting on her forehead like a third eye. It itched a little, and often Jane would push her circlet up to rub at her skin.

“ _Janeeeey_ , oh my _gosh_ , you’re gonna mess up my choice makeup work,” Roxy drawled, spotting Jane fiddling with the circlet for the third time. She tickled Jane’s hands with a powdered brush. “Do you wanna be flawless or do you wanna be _flawless_? There’s a science to this wixardry, you know!”

“ _Wiz_ ardry,” Rose corrected, primping in the mirror. Roxy rolled her eyes.

“Totes what I said, Rosie, but better. You know why?”

“Because it has an ‘x’ in it?”

“Pretty much.” Delicately, Roxy lifted the circlet to powder Jane’s forehead anew, and bopped the Queen on the nose with the brush when she had finished. “There! Now don’t go futzing it up on me, Janey Jane, I gotta have total concentration up in this biznatch.” The powdered brush was discarded for a smaller one, bearing a finer tip. With it came a tiny glass vial of black cream. “Close them peepers, I’m gonna give you _the_ most slammin’ wingtips of all time!”

Jane laughed but complied, shivering as the cold cream touched her skin. “Must you?”

“Uh, _yeah_.” Roxy drew closer, her every breath sweet and warm on Jane’s cheeks. There was not one whiff of alcohol. “Why not? It’s _your_ day, girl, might as well be too hot to handle. If you pulled this in front of all those stuffy foreign dudes, they’d probably be like, _whoa_ , dude, _no_ , I can’t handle _Jane_ , one look and my tightiest tight ass’ll be on _fire_. So don’t _you_ be a tight ass and deny my gracious gift of slayin’ out there, okay?”

“Alright, alright, fine! Goodness, Roxy, have you been planning this talk of ours?”

“I keep super duper awesome pep talks on file for these purposes, so…yeah. You never know when you’ll haveta turn a frown upside-down, Janey. You just can’t ever know.”

Rose watched the pair in the mirror as this went on, chuckling as she continued to adorn herself with jewelry. Near her sat Jade, combing through the ends of her hair with a tight grimace. It was terribly knotted, and it seemed to take all of her effort not to wince. With a sharp yank, Jade pulled her brush through a particularly stubborn clump of knots. “ _Augh_ , geez! Maybe you can give me one of those pep talks, Roxy, because this is way more trouble than it’s worth!”

Rose leaned over to examine her progress. “I think you need to treat your knots more than you need to motivate them. Do you want to see if Kanaya has any oils for that?”

“Don’t we wash hair to get oil out of it?”

“This is different. These are good oils.” She patted Jade on the shoulder. “Come along, I’ll show you. I think my dear sister has things under control here.”

Roxy waved over her shoulder as they left, the suite falling eerily silent. She added another swipe of the black cream to Jane’s eyes.

“…You nervous, Janey?”

“About what?”

“I dunno. Everything I guess.” A puff of breath ghosted on Jane’s eyelid, and Roxy moved on to the other. “Nothin’s ever gonna be the same again after today. I mean, nothin’ stays the same forever, but this feels…like a ginormous change. You’re not scared one little bit?”

A pause. Jane chewed on the corner of her lip. “No,” She said at last, “It’s like you said, after all. Nothing stays the same. Things are always changing – they have _been_ changing, Roxy, sometimes in the biggest of ways and sometimes imperceptively, but there is change every day. We wouldn’t be here in this moment if there wasn’t change. Isn’t that part of what life is about?”

“Just because it’s what life’s about doesn’t mean it’s not fuckin’ scary as shit.”

“Well, no, but I choose not to be frightened of it.”

With one last swipe of the brush, Roxy leaned forward again to blow on Jane’s other eye. “Geez, Janey! If I was in your place, I’d be climbin’ out a window right now, preggers and in a dress and all!” She poked Jane’s cheek. “Now cut that out, I gotta put some color on you-”

“Roxy, I can do that myself!” Jane cracked her eyes open tentatively to pat her friend’s hand away. “The fawning is nice, really it is, but I’m not completely helpless.” She held in a sigh as Roxy pouted. “Why don’t you go see how Jade and Rose are doing with those oils? I’m sure they’d appreciate an extra set of hands.”

It took a moment or two of Roxy’s sad kitten eyes for her to relent to Jane’s suggestion, groaning dramatically as she shuffled to the door. “Fiiiine,” She said, “But don’t you come cryin’ my way when your feet’re too swollen from standing at the mirror and you can’t walk down the aisle, alright?”

“Hoo hoo! I shalln’t!”

Her cheer must have been infectious. Though Roxy took on an air of faux offense, Jane glimpsed a smile on her lips as she left the suite. Alone, the room was quiet and cavernous; light streamed in from the high-set windows, and belongings had yet to properly settle outside of their trunks and boxes. The three beds of the Duchesses had been made without a crease, probably by Rose’s hand, and their nightgowns lay on their coverlets in varying states. With a soft grunt, Jane pushed herself out of her chair and made her way to the mirror, rouge in hand. For a minute she turned her head this way and that, quietly admiring her reflection – she was entitled to a smidge of pride, after all. Then, with as light and deft a touch as Roxy, she applied rouge to her cheeks, blending it with the foundation. It was a mimicry of her own healthy glow, but this one would not falter or shift easily, and it added a bit of drama with her dark-rimmed eyes. She whet her lips next and applied a bit of the rouge to them, admiring how it turned a deep, sweet red against her skin. What fun makeup could be! It wasn’t something Jane would want to wear every day, for she could already feel her fingers itching to rub at her eyes, but for something like this it was perfectly grand. She peered curiously at herself, leaning close to the mirror, until she heard a knock at the door.

“Now who could that be?” Jane said aloud. The wedding wasn’t to start for a while yet. Had the girls returned? Jane’s feet began to hurt as she walked slowly towards the door, opening it just a crack. “Yes?”

An orange eye met her own. “Hi.”

A thrill shot through Jane’s body, and she gasped as she pressed the door closed, leaning against it. Her blush seemed to seep through her makeup. “Dirk!! What in the world are you doing over here?!?”

She heard a thump as Dirk leaned on the door from the other side. “Looking for you,” He said, “That a crime now?”

She sighed. “Of course it’s not…oh, Dirk, but you aren’t supposed to see me until we’re both downstairs! Isn’t this bad luck? I’ve heard it’s bad luck!”

His laugh vibrated through the door. “It’s only bad luck if I actually see you in your dress. I only saw your eye, and I…I want to talk to you, Jane. I want to hold your hand. If that strikes us down, then I’m lobbying with whatever asshole is in charge of the world’s luck because he’s gotta be having the slowest day to slam us with that bullshit.”

The longer Jane stood, the more her feet and back ached ferociously, but the temptation to indulge her fiancé was strong. She opened the door just a crack and slipped her hand through. “Oh, fine, but only for a minute. If I don’t sit soon my legs might give out.”

The hand that grasped hers was large and rough, and a bit clammy. Still she squeezed it tight, and he squeezed back. “Thank you,” Dirk said, “Thank you so much. Really. I appreciate this.”

“I would hope so,” Jane said. She shifted from foot to foot, hissing in pain. “Oh gosh…I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the ceremony.”

“Ask if you can have a chair.”

“I highly doubt that would be appropriate, as lackadaisy as this whole affair has become.”

“Then I’ll just hold you up and carry you down the aisle when it’s over. No big deal.” They were quiet for a moment. Dirk ran the pad of his thumb over Jane’s knuckles. “How’s the kid?”

“Sleeping, I think. He hasn’t budged much.”

He chuckled. “Probably squished as all hell in there.”

“Well it’s not like I can make it any roomier for him. Not for a little while, at least. But if I start thinking about that, I think I’ll become too excited to breathe.”

“Pretty sure they call that an anxiety attack, Jane. You need some water?”

“I’m _fine_ , Dirk.” She paused and tugged his hand further in, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. “I love you, after all.”

There was a tug back, and lips pressed to the back of her hand. “I love you, too. And…I think I’ll be alright, now.”

“You’ll manage to live through the morning?”

“Just barely.” She could hear the smirk in his voice as they let each other go. “Rest. Relax. Put your feet up and let the girls dote on you if they want. The last thing we need is a comatose Queen on her wedding day.”

She leaned towards the crack in the door to catch a glimpse of that orange eye. On Dirk’s forehead, she could just make out his own crown, a silver circlet sporting fire opal. “Really? Because I thought the last thing we needed was a nosy troublemaker of a King.”

He laughed, and just before she shut the door, Jane saw the subtle ripple of fingers, a wave of parting. She mimicked it, though he could not see, and as she made her way back to her chair she felt the light, wriggling shift of the baby. Jane patted the top of her belly thoughtfully.

“There there. You always seem to know when your Papa’s about, don’t you?” Jane lowered herself carefully into her chair. “Oomph…please tell me that doesn’t mean you’ll be pummeling my organs all through the ceremony.”

The heel of a foot pressed impatiently at her hand, and Jane couldn’t help but laugh.

~*~

As the morning slowly waned, trolls and humans alike trickled into the throne room to take their places. There were those of the royal family, of course, and of the royal courts, but servants of the castle and a smattering of workmen joined them, all having ingrained themselves into the very mortar of the castle and thus invested in the outcome of its inhabitants. They politely declined seats, happy to sit on the floor and watch the top of the staircase with the diligence of hawks.

Most of the trolls of the royal court sat. Aradia swung her legs next to a lethargic Sollux, who gazed out into the crowd without really focusing on them. On either side of them sat Terezi and Gamzee, who, in the recent months, had taken to distancing themselves during matters of great importance. That did not stop them, however, from tossing dirty black looks over the heads and horns of their peers; they understood the appropriate time and place for some things, but could not help dipping into them just to needle each other. Compared to the others, Kanaya sat in prim perfection, every detail of her makeup and strand of her hair set perfectly in place. All were dressed primarily in their blood color, indulging in accents of white and black, and all eyes pointedly ignored the empty seats beside them, bearing small trinkets of their fallen friends. While the trolls who had died at the hands of the Beforans were with them in spirit, it did not feel respectful to gawk at these spaces.

The only troll who did not sit was Karkat. He stood nearest to the thrones, clothes somberly black with only the smallest hint of red at his throat. He tugged at it constantly, as if the bright color was a target that someone could lunge for at any moment. There was a book in his hands, an old thing from the Prospitian archives, and he leafed through it with ginger care, eyes soaking up the passages inside. On the cover, the symbol of every Art had been etched long ago, and the title it bore was written both in the strange hieroglyphs of the Beforan trolls and the first inkling of the common tongue of the land: _The Wedding of the Esoteric Arts_. It was a strange book by far, pulled out by Prospitian scholars the moment they got wind of the royal wedding, and they insisted that this provided the guidelines for all modern binding and wedding ceremonies of both Prospit and Derse in the tongues of its titles; Karkat was the only one who could make heads or tails of it. What else could be better to marry the lands, when siding with the tradition of one country or species could alienate the others?

A hush marked the beginning of the ceremony as the whispering throng spotted the royal families as they descended from the stairs. First among them was Dirk, his white trousers and overcoat finely tailored, with a flash of orange at his throat from a high-collared waistcoat. His triangle spectacles were nowhere to be seen. Behind him was Dave, clad in a pearly pink suit, his spectacles still firmly in place and his mouth in the firmest, most nonchalant of lines. When the two brothers reached the end of the stairs all went still, for their every step exuded precision and confidence. Dave only left Dirk’s side when they reached the thrones, sliding into an empty chair as Dirk stood to the right. He clasped his hands behind his back, turned towards the top of the stairs, and with his eyes every head turned. After the brothers of Derse came its sisters, Roxy and Rose, and they too demanded the same presence in their walks. They joined Dave in their seats just as Jade and Jake appeared at the top of the stairs, and by then the crowd was talking again in hushed whispers of impatience. The Duchess and Duke seemed spurred on by this, for they hurried down the stairs and into their chairs with a joyous glee, almost like puppies let loose after being cooped up all day.

And then the whispers ceased.

John appeared at the top of the stairs, and on his arm was Jane. Slowly they descended, Jane’s dress billowing behind her in wisps of white and cyan. She could hear the audience catch its breath the closer they came, and Jane blushed, ducking her head. She just managed to glimpse Dirk through the fringe of her bangs; he stared at her unabashedly with a smile that refused to be stifled or hidden.

The walk to the thrones could have lasted a lifetime and Jane wouldn’t have cared. The closer she came to Dirk, the more a soothing calm settled into her body, bringing with it a warmth and elation that she could barely contain. It reached its peak when the walk finally came to an end, John lingering just long enough to make sure Jane had her balance before he retreated to his seat. She could feel all eyes on her, but it didn’t matter. The only pair she cared about were right in front of her.

“You sure you can’t use Breath?” Dirk asked, his words barely audible, “’Cause you took mine away.”

Jane tried not to bite her lip to stifle her giggles. “Oh, stop it…”

“Yes – stop it.” Both pairs of eyes flickered to Karkat, who had grit his teeth against the flush in his cheeks. “Keep your sappy-ass flirting for when literally thousands of gander bulbs aren’t lolling in your general direction.” He flipped aggressively through the book in his hands, which, Jane now saw, had been bookmarked in several places with strips of paper. “You want to make this three ring circus official? Don’t be idiots and let me concentrate on saying shit in the right order.”

All this rushed out in a hiss, barely discerned by Jane or Dirk, much less anyone else. Still, they shut their mouths as instructed as their irritable proctor hunted for his introduction. When he finally found it, all in attendance were silenced in respect for the boom of his voice and pomp in his tone.

“Friends,” Karkat began, “Fellows, and Citizens of many colored banners…you have entered this place in peace and with no objections, in order to witness the joining of two lands, embodied in the King and Queen before you. Most of you…or, well, ninety nine percent of you…didn’t have to do that. But you did…and I want to be the first to let you know that we appreciate it, and ask that when this whole thing is over…that you exit this place in the same peace as you entered it.” He was very clearly paraphrasing, if the measured pauses were anything to go by, but the words were sincere enough to the ear that no one stood to challenge Karkat’s request for peace. He went on.

“We have gone through…way too many troubles to get to this day. And on any other day, I sure as hell wouldn’t be calling them ‘troubles’.” That sent a ripple of laughter through the crowd. “But that’s how it is. We walked through blood and fire and emerged from the other side. We’re not whole, we’re not…” Karkat paused, his gaze lingering on the empty seats of his peers. “We’re not moving on unwounded. But we’re alive, and stronger for it, and through this we’re going to solidify that strength and turn it into prosperity in every corner of the land.”

This was met with solemn nods on all sides. Karkat looked down at the book and flipped to another section.

“Your Majesty, King Dirk Strider of Derse.”

 “Yes?”

“Master of the Esoteric Art of Heart?”

“…As far as I know, yes.”

“No speculatives, bub, be clear with me. And no rambling, either.”

Dirk pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Fine. Yes.”

“Do you swear to uphold the rights and freedoms of the Citizens of Prospit as much as you have for the Citizens of Derse?”

“I do.”

“Do you promise to wield your Art with wisdom, to never abuse its power, and to rule justly over matters of the Heart?”

“I do.”

“And do you take Her Grace, Queen Jane Crocker of Prospit as your wife, wholly and completely, through all of Life’s trials and tribulations?” Karkat seemed to peer over the book as he went on, critical to the last. Jane would have laughed if she could; the protective nature of her General was sort of sweet. “Do you vow to love and cherish her until the end of your days?”

Dirk heaved a breath and turned, meeting Jane’s eyes. His hands twitched, eager to hold hers. “Until the end and beyond,” He said, and the warmth in Jane flared.

It wasn’t the proper answer, but Karkat huffed and accepted it, leafing through a few more pages. “Alright then. Your Grace, Queen Jane Crocker of Prospit.”

Her eyes never left Dirk. “Yes?”

“Master of the Esoteric Art of Life?”

“Yes, General Vantas.”

“Do you swear to uphold the rights and freedoms of the Citizens of Derse as much as you have for the Citizens of Prospit?”

“I certainly do.”

“Do you promise to wield your Art with wisdom, to never abuse its power, and to rule justly over matters of Life?”

“I do.”

“And do you take His Majesty, King Dirk Strider of Derse as your husband, wholly and completely, through all of the Heart’s trials and tribulations? Do you vow to love and cherish him until the end of your days?”

She nodded once. “Until the end and beyond,” Jane said. Dirk’s eyes seemed as bright and brilliant as the sun.

Karkat stifled a groan as he closed the book. This part, Jane knew, he had memorized. “Human matesprits, for fuck’s _sake_ ,” He muttered, and the pair chuckled softly. “Join hands and put them on the book.” They did so, and Karkat leveled the book under their hands, the cool leather of its cover a spot of relief. “By the power invested in me through the Art of Blood, that which bonds both human and trollkind, as well as the rights granted to me as Lord and General, I pronounce you-”

Karkat’s words were lost as a thunderous boom sounded from the doors, shaking them violently. Those closest yelled in shock and scrambled over others to get away, and soon the entire throng of the audience had stood up to try and see what the commotion was about. The boom sounded again, and Jane could hear the distinct splinter of the castle’s heavy wooden doors. “What’s going on?” She asked, and looked around to the others, but they all held the same drawn and nervous confusion. “Are…we’re not under attack, are we?”

Dirk released Jane’s hands only to take her shoulders and draw her back. “Sure sounds like it,” He said, “And they shouldn’t of made it this far. Don’t we have guards and soldiers on the grounds?”

“I thought…that they all went south…to look for the Benefactor,” Jane said. She turned to Karkat, whose face had turned frighteningly ashen. “Karkat…I _am_ mistaken, aren’t I? Surely we have some sort of defense…”

There was a pause. The boom sounded once more, and splintered wood flung out into the audience. Karkat slowly shook his head.

“We…we don’t have _any_ body,” He said. All the power that had resonated in his voice was gone, replaced with a frightened, frustrated rasp.

Though Dirk’s grip on her tightened, Jane steeled herself against the encroaching fear. “Well?” She said, “What are we waiting for? These are civilians, we need to evacuate them, and we need to get out of here ourselves! We don’t have a clue who’s trying to get in, but if they’re beating down the door then they absolutely cannot be-”

But Jane never finished her sentence. At that moment a searing pain shot through her forehead, as if she had been impaled with a white-hot poker, and the scream that came from her was nearly inhuman. Her legs gave out, and she would have fallen had Dirk not been holding her.

“Jane?! _Jane_ -”

Dirk’s words were strangled by a scream of his own, and he wavered precariously on his feet. Jane struggled to stay upright, and as her pain lessened, it spread and sparked along the press of her circlet. She noticed Dirk reaching for his own, struggling to pry it off with shaking fingers. Their pain was the same, Jane thought hazily, but why? And the others – they too had fallen, but none of them clutched their heads. Some held their chests as if their hearts had burst, while others grabbed at their wrists and fingers, or even their throats.

No one seemed able to move, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t think. They were trying to remove whatever it was that had caused them pain. Surely they too couldn’t have circlets hidden on such strange parts of their bodies – but that was when Jane realized it, just as the castle doors burst open amid the terrified screams of the helpless audience.

Every single one of them had worn something that bore their stones, the old gems that the Cherubim has used as catalysts to amplify their control. She personally had been wary of larimar through all these years, but with the Cherubs gone it seemed silly to remove it all from her finery. Apparently, the others had thought the same, and deemed their old things appropriate to wear for today.

Apparently, Jane thought, a chill coming over her, they had all thought wrong.

Another wave of pain shot through them all, but with it came terror, and Jane clung to Dirk as tightly as she could. All the civilians who had attended the wedding began to scatter as soldiers dispersed through the throne room. They all wore lime green, and they all had a green tinge to their skin, whether human or troll – though it was impossible to tell which, or if they were humans or trolls at all. Each of them wore some kind of hat, hiding any evidence of horns they might have. Efficient and grim, they herded the civilians out of the castle as they advanced on the crippled royals, and those who refused to move were quickly slaughtered for their trouble. Soon the ground ran red, and against the green of the soldiers Jane’s head spun in spirals.

“Ah, would you look at that. It seems I’ve come right on time.”

The voice seemed to echo in every ear as its speaker stepped into the castle. It was a man, or some kind of approximation of a man, tall and lean in a crisp white suit and lime ascot. Where his head should have been rested a large, perfect sphere, white and gleaming, and as he crossed the throne room not a drop of spilt blood touched him, as if the very substance was repelled by his presence.

“Do forgive me for the entrance,” The man said as he approached, rubbing gloved hands together, “It was the idea of my soldiers. They have a penchant for…fun, you might say.” He flicked his right wrist, and between the glove and the cuff of his sleeve Jane could just see an odd bracelet, chips of gems strung snugly together. His thumb and forefinger pinched a light blue gem, and the pain racked through her again. “That and, well, I must admit I’ve been harboring a bit of a grudge. As any being of great power, it is absolutely humiliating to lose.” He stopped just before Dirk and Jane, leaning forward, and though he had no face there was a great menace to his presence. “I thought I should return the favor.”

The haze of pain lessened, and in its place an icy rage mounted in Jane as realization snapped in her mind. She narrowed her eyes and grit her teeth. “I-it’s _you_ ,” She said, “The Benefactor o-of Beforan…Doc Scratch…!”

A gloved hand caught Jane’s chin, the flesh underneath it too soft and too cool to be flesh, yet the grip so strangely familiar. “So good to meet you at last, Your Grace,” He said, “I have heard a plethora about you, and there is no doubt in my mind that you will fulfill your duty splendidly.”

She wanted to spit at him, this Doc Scratch, this tyrannical Benefactor, this sudden and unwelcome wedding guest. She wanted him surrounded by her soldiers, captured and ashamed that he had spread so much chaos and fear, that he had torn dead trolls from their afterlife only to die at the hands of their successors…but she could not. It was as if the white bandages from her dream so long ago, in the wake of Meenah’s death, had reappeared to stuff themselves down her throat and encase her in a cocoon.

A hand reached out to grip Doc Scratch’s wrist, its knuckles white.

“ _Get your filthy hands off of her_ ,” Dirk growled. Scratch leaned back slightly, his hold on Jane loosening.

“Oh, my. I had no idea we were fighting with baseless _lies_ , Your Majesty. _Excuse_ me if dealing only in unfortunate truths is _unfavorable_ to you.”

The hand removed itself only to squeeze an orange gem on his bracelet – fire opal, Jane realized – and a scream tore itself from Dirk’s throat like none that had come before. His body went slack with pain, and it was Jane’s turn to keep him upright. Doc Scratch turned to his soldiers.

“Boys,” He said, waving dismissively at the royals, “Take care of them as we discussed.”

A leer appeared on the green face of every soldier as they swooped in, gathering up weakened trolls and humans as if they were rag dolls, ignoring their attempts at struggle. Every once in a while Scratch would squeeze another gem and someone would go limp. Rough hands immediately set to prying the King and Queen apart, but Jane held fast to Dirk with all her might.

“What’re you doing – stop it – just **_STOP!!!!_** ”

But they did not stop. The soldiers that had descended on Jane and Dirk were relentless, and soon bruises marred Jane’s arms. Still she held on, struggling just to hold Dirk’s hand, but he was still too disorientated from pain to fight back properly. First one finger slipped. Then another, and another…

The too-soft hand rested on the nape of Jane’s neck. “Come with me, Your Grace. Don’t make a fuss, and I shall not hurt him again.”

Did Jane believe that? Not for a second.

Did she relent? Yes.

She let go of Dirk’s hand, and her body tingled, rebelling against every ounce of proper sense she had as Scratch led her away, her family and friends rounded up like animals, her beloved hauled off like garbage. Not once did she look away, and though Dirk’s name lay on the tip of her tongue, she made no sound. Scratch hummed, content.

“Ah, yes. Obedient and silent – just as a proper Maid should be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yes. The real, true climax begins. I've been waiting all year for this, and I'm going to do my best not to disappoint you. What good timing, too, to leave off on such a frightening cliffhanger so close to Halloween! If I keep working at this pace, the possibility of having the last two chapters of OSA up before December is very real indeed! So please, wish me luck, okay?


	19. Gambit

Every castle worth its salt had a dungeon. No one was sure why; it seemed silly to keep the state’s most dangerous, wanted criminals underneath the quarters of its rulers. After all, a dungeon’s defenses were only as good as the hands that had constructed it, and there was no guarantee that a criminal wasn’t sly enough to escape, or forgiving enough not to try and exact their revenge. It was these things that had been kept in mind while constructing the dungeon below the Scratchlands castle, and it showed. There were no windows of any kind, and the only light came from high ceiling sconces in the hallways. It reached dimly into the cells through iron bars so thick and strong that, during construction, had been tested by Equius on Dirk’s request, and had proven a challenge for even him to bend. The walls were layered with stone and earth and metal, impossible to dig through. There was only one catch, and that was the locks on the doors. Each had been made from the exact same mold (broken afterwards, of course) and thus only one key was needed in the entire dungeon system to open every single cell. It was up to the dungeon master to keep charge of the key, but as a shriek of terror was silenced with a gruesome, splattering slice, Dirk knew that the key had changed hands. Soon came the heavy creak of opening doors, and the green soldiers glanced briefly into each cell before they tossed in their prisoners. Many were already occupied by Beforan supporters, and they cheered raucously as they fled their confines, spitting on the royals as they passed. Dirk felt his mouth pull back into a snarl as a particularly stinking glob hit his cheek.

The pain inflicted by Doc Scratch had begun to fade when he was unceremoniously thrown into a tiny cell, slamming half into the wall, half into the floor. Another body was tossed on top of him, and the cell door slammed shut.

“Onward!” Heaved a gruff voice, “No point in penning them like pigs! We need more cells!”

The laughter from the green soldiers became muffled as they moved on, but Dirk strained his ears to hear it. Everything about him pounded, from his heart to his bruises to the hot, sickening fury building in his chest, and he had only two thoughts: the first, _What in the shit just happened_ , and the second, _Jane had better be safe or so help me I will rip Scratch limb from fucking **limb**_.

He barely noticed his cellmate’s groans, or how they rolled off of him with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. “Bloody…bulldog…bollocks on a…aaah, ow, ow, _ow_ , it still burns, oh _fucknuggets-_ ” There was another wriggle, and Dirk saw a figure sit up in the dim light. It was Jake, and he breathed heavily as he tugged at something on his person. It took a moment for Dirk to realize that one of Jake’s arms was completely limp, and on its wrist he caught the glimmer of a gemstone. “It’s not – coming – _off!!!!_ ”

Dirk reached up and fingered his circlet. When once he could easily push it up and off with his thumb, it now seemed fused to his skin, and he could feel beads of blood roll down his forehead. No doubt the others fared the same, and Dirk tried to blink away the image of his friends and family bleeding out and weak.

He cleared his throat to get Jake’s attention, and the Duke jumped. His limp arm hung uselessly at his side. “Beans in a _bucket_ – who’s there?! If it’s one of you celedonian rapscallions, why I’ll-”

“Jake.” Dirk grimaced as the pain sparked along his circlet anew. “It’s _me_ , you goddamn dummins.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, Jake laughed, once and breathless. “Oh! Oh, it’s – it’s the groom! Well, aren’t I just…just a lucky fellow?” His tone betrayed his exasperation. Dirk couldn’t blame him.

“The luckiest,” Dirk said, and pushed himself upright. His jaw and chest ached terribly. “Want help with Scratch’s little present?”

Jake’s arm floundered once, twice, before he sighed and used his other hand to present it to Dirk. “By all means, give it a go old boy, but the damnable thing isn’t going to budge.”

“It’s worth a shot.” His fingers found a bracelet, but it too seemed fused to the skin, and he pressed at the area experimentally. Jake hissed, and Dirk could feel his muscles moving, as if he wanted nothing more than to pull his arm away. Observations like this were good, they were analytical and cold, and they set the gears in Dirk’s mind in motion. “You’re still reacting to the pain, but you can’t act on it…the source is definitely the gems. But it doesn’t make sense that we can’t remove them. With the Cherubs we could take all this crap off, and as awful as they were, neither of them gave pain away like free candy. They fucked with our heads. This is direct coercion.”

 “ _Ngh_ – that’s all well and good, chap, but – could you quit squeezing me? Please?”

“Grit your teeth, Harley, this is for science.” Dirk’s hold relaxed. “We might have to jimmy the damn thing off of you, or cut it off – not amputation, obviously, but incisions and…” He noticed Jake’s face turning pale. “Okay wait, no, maybe we’ll do something else. Maybe we’ll…break the stones?”

There was a scrape, and Jake’s leg was suddenly in Dirk’s lap. “No, no, I’ve – I’ve got a pocket knife in my boot. We’ll get the stones out with that.”

“You want me to jam a blade into your wrist? You’ve got major arteries there, you know that-”

“Cripes, man! No, just jimmy it out between the metal and the stone – the knife acts like a lever, the metal’s the fulcrum – like that!”

Oh. That was…clever. Perhaps Dirk’s observations hadn’t cooled his thought processes as much as he assumed. He huffed as he reached into Jake’s boot, and indeed, he found a small pocket knife strapped to his leg. He pulled it out quick as a flash and set to work on the gem on Jake’s bracelet. “Gotta say, as strange as it is that you’ve got a knife on you at your cousin’s wedding, I cannot think of anything else I’d rather have on me in this sort of situation.”

Jake chuckled. “That’s nothing,” He whispered, and patted his sides. “Don’t be alarmed, but…I’ve got pistols under my coat.”

“Pistols – what the _fuck_ , dude?” There was a crack as a piece of gem splintered off, and the knife dug deeper into the crevice. “Who comes packing to a wedding? Don’t tell me you planned to give me a few new holes if I decided to turn tail at the altar.”

“No, no, nothing of the sort…” Another chunk of gem came out, and Jake’s arm twitched. “I just…you’ve always got to be prepared for the worst, right? Even at a happy occasion, there’s always nasty beasties lingering in the darkness…as this sudden incarceration clearly proves.”

“Well, next time share your paranoia with the class. I get that you probably hurt too much to pull anything out, but one of us could have rushed that Scratch bastard.”

“I’ve only got one shot each, Your Majesty, _blimey_. You did see the legion of rough ‘n tumblers out there, didn’t you?” With a final push, the remainder of Jake’s gem popped out of his bracelet, and it slid off of his arm, leaving a bleeding wring around his wrist. He sighed in relief and held out the hand for his knife. “Give that here, and I’ll do you next.”

Dirk handed the knife over. “How?”

“Just put your head in my lap, old bean, and try not to wriggle.”

Oh God, that sounded like something out of an old-timey porn novel – the act it would usually follow with escaped Dirk at the moment, and he bit back a smarmy retort and did as he was told. There were more important things that needed to be addressed. Vengeance, for instance.

“So after this,” Dirk said, the splinter of fire opal sickening to the ear, “We’re getting the fuck out of here, and we’re taking down Scratch.” Jake looked down at him with his mouth pulled back and an eyebrow raised. “These idiots are most likely going to have someone patrolling the cells, and it’ll probably be the idiot who’s holding the key. Scratch wants us down here, but that doesn’t mean he can’t call for any one of us to be brought up on a whim. He’s controlling the situation and has no reason to fear us – he just wants us all in one place.”

“And you’re sure of this because…?”

“Because I’m a King. I’d want the same. And as a Queen, so would Jane.” Just her name egged on the fury that roared in his chest. “So yeah – the key idiot. I’ll get him to fork over the goods and we’ll knock him out, and then you’ll take the key and let everyone else out, get the gems off of them. Guerilla warfare the fuck out of these leprechaun assholes and take their weapons. I don’t care if they’re dead or alive, but we have to incapacitate them enough so they won’t be an issue.”

A piece of fire opal popped out of the circlet, and already Dirk felt relief sweep over him. His body relaxed in Jake’s hold. “Not to be a heel, but how do you plan on getting this ‘key idiot’ to give up the key?”

“You’ll see.”

“…Alright.” Jake’s resignation was a little sour on Dirk’s palate. He wished the Duke would egg him to explain. “So say that all goes swimmingly. Why am I going to rescue our friends all on my lonesome?”

“Because I’m going for Scratch.”

The scrape of the knife stopped, and he could just make out Jake’s jaw dropping in the darkness. “You’re – but that’s suicidal! There’s still soldiers upstairs, and…and what about the Scratch fellow?”

What about him indeed. Dirk did not answer Jake, his mouth pressed into a thin line and his eyes closing. All he could see is the memory of Jane, wavering and in pain, looking back at him as Scratch took her away. Any danger that stood between him and Jane didn’t matter. It could try to kill him, it could succeed, but he would meet it regardless of his fate, for leaving Jane in the hands of the Benefactor of Beforan, who so clearly had plans in mind for her apart from the rest…it terrified him, and that terror was his only fuel. How much had Jane done for him in the past? _Too_ much – her companionship and care had lifted him from darkness and continued to brighten his days, softening all the hard and pointy parts of his heart that had been stilted from a lifetime of manipulation and subjugation. She had kept him unteathered, and in return, he had offered her his neck, in a sense, vulnerable and trusting. Never had she abused this, and never could he repay her for that. It made his vow above, just a short time ago, so easy to make, because he had meant it with every fiber of his being and intended to honor it even if they weren’t officially wed just yet.

If that meant for heads to roll, then said heads would roll faster and further than any heads before them.

There was a pop, and with it all the pain Dirk had felt before reduced itself to a sharpness where his circlet rested. Jake wasted no time in removing it and helping the King sit upright. “Well, whatever it is you’ve got the notion to do, I suppose I can’t stop you. I do insist you not leave the dungeon unarmed, though, because fisticuffs are pretty much guaranteed.” Quickly, Jake shucked off his coat, revealing the pistols holstered to his chest, which he undid with startling fluidity. “Take these, I insist you take them! They’re only worth two shots, but I believe that you’ll make them worthwhile.” He paused to grin weakly at the King. “I believe _in_ you, Dirk, for what it’s worth, and with all that Hope’s taught me, such a thing is worth a considerable amount!”

There was a beat between the two young men, the pistols held out between them as an offering. Dirk looked at them, weighing their firepower and Jake’s words in his mind, before he nodded and took off his own coat. “Alright – help me put those on, though, I’ve never had to use guns before and I’m not about to announce them with giant, ridiculous bulges in my pockets.” A soft patter of footsteps echoed through the dungeon hallway. “Quick, before someone comes!”

The Duke complied, guiding Dirk’s arms through the loops of the holster. “I hope this mystery plan of yours works,” He hissed, nimble fingers fastening straps and buckles. One of his feet kicked the broken gems and jewelry into the far reaches of the cell. “You’re gambling an awful lot, Your Majesty, if you don’t mind me pointing it out.”

Dirk resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was difficult when, even in darkness, you were still exposed to the scrutiny of others. “For fuck’s sake, dude, we’re practically family. Call me Dirk. We’re not playing Prince and Page anymore.”

“Heh, sorry. Old habits, you know. They die hard.”

And old flames, Dirk wanted to add, but he thought better of it. After all, the blithe and tired look on Jake’s face said enough; those flames would have fizzled whether he had gotten his way all those years ago or not.

They just managed to get Dirk’s coat back on and slump appropriately against the walls of the cell by the time a soldier appeared before them. The master key hung around his thick neck, and he leered curiously at his prisoners, rattling the bars.

“‘Ey. _‘Ey!_ You’se Jake English, yeh?” Neither boy made to indicate they’d heard the soldier, who stuck his head between the bars and narrowed his eyes at Jake. “C’mon, you ‘member me at all? I talked to ya a couple times back in the good ol’ days, with Lord English!”

Huh…now that he mentioned it, the voice was somewhat familiar to Dirk. Gruff, gravely, with a hint of roundness to the words…a name didn’t come to mind, but a group did, a whole gaggle of gangrene looking motherfuckers working under Caliborn with nigh unwavering loyalty. They had disappeared after their Lord had died, but Dirk remembered The Felt and wanted to bite his tongue at his past self’s stupidity. Why did he not hunt them down in all this time? Why did he let them roam free to find themselves a new master? It was just his luck that they would return as enemies.

The Felt crony shook the bars once more. “‘Ey! I’m talkin’ ta youse! Whassamatta? Cat gotcher tongue?”

Jake was still and silent despite the soldier’s berating, and Dirk had to give him credit. Slowly, he let one of his hands fall to the ground, splayed as he took a deep breath. Magenta sparked between his fingers.

“I think you bastards knocked his jaw out of place when you threw him in here,” Dirk said. He ignored the burn of the soldier’s gaze as it fell on him, focusing only on his words. There needed to be a special kind of richness to them, one he had not used in a very long time. “Looks hella painful. Maybe you should get a real doctor down here?”

The soldier grunted and spat into the cell. “He don’t look hurt,” He said, “‘Sides what the Doc’s done anyways.”

The magenta sparks strengthened. “Oh, he is. Your sight must be shot, old man, because this shit’s clear as day to me.” The jab at his age made the soldier growl, but it was nowhere near ferocious enough to be intimidating. “I’d set it myself, but I’m a King, not a doctor. There’s some things that even I can’t do.” He paused. “You sure you don’t wanna take a look…?”

A huff left the soldier, and after a moment, Dirk could hear the tumblers of a lock. “Wimp King,” The soldier muttered, “Can’t set jaws…kid’s s’posed to’ve fought like a demon, don’t even know first aid…”

Anyone else who might have tried to use this trick would have been easily ignored; it was old and overdone, known by anyone with a quarter of a brain to be a ploy for escape, but Dirk was different. Dirk had Heart on his side, and he knew exactly what it took to take the sparks that danced along his hand and transform them into the strongest of puppet’s strings. Extreme concentration, a rich and soothing tone, all allowed him to lure his target closer, clouding their better judgment.

It was such that the soldier had no idea what he’d gotten into once he’d stepped into the cell. Immediately Dirk leapt upon him, pinning him to the ground with his sparking hand on that broad chest. He could feel Heart penetrating painlessly through the skin and muscle, wrapping itself around the soldier’s own heart and melding to its every beat. Once it had, Dirk pulled his hand away, and just barely visible in the dim light was a series of strings, thin and effervescent, wound tightly around his fingers. Jake watched him in awe, his mouth agape.

“First thing’s first,” Dirk said, and his fingers twitched into some strange, gnarled form. The soldier’s mouth pressed firmly shut, and though he looked between the two with frantic panic he made no sound. “Gotta keep him quiet.” He turned to Jake. “I could knock him out, but I’m rustier than an old milk bucket left out in a decade’s worth of rain, and…well, frankly, I might end up killing the son of a bitch. I’m angry, but definitely not that angry, and it’s not this guy’s fault his boss is trying to wreck major shit.” He gestured to the soldier with his free hand. “Tell me, Jake. How well do you throw a punch?”

“Uh…” Jake blinked owlishly, his hands resting limply in his lap. “Pretty, erm…pretty rip-roaring well.” His fingers clenched. “You want me to wail on him?”

“If that’s not a problem.”

The young Duke shook his head. “No – no, it’s not. I remember this chap, to tell the truth.”

“Old friend of yours?”

A fist pulled back. “I was never a friend to any of The Felt.”

With that, the soldier received a swift punch, then another, and his eyes rolled back into his head as his body slumped. Dirk relaxed his hand, and the strange strings disappeared.

“ _Golly_ ,” Jake said, rubbing his knuckles, “Is that what Heart can do? That’s something else, by gum!” Pride warmed Dirk’s cheeks at the praise, but he pushed it aside in favor of yanking the dungeon key from the soldier’s neck. “I sure am glad you wanted to leave it as a surprise, Dirk! I don’t think I’ve ever-”

He silenced as Dirk tossed the key his way. “Please, Jake. Stop. You’re pretty, too. But we’ve got more important shit to take care of.” Jake’s befuddled expression coaxed a thin chuckle from Dirk, and he went to pat down the soldier next, pulling a few weapons from his person. They were mostly shoddy blunt instruments with such crude craftsmanship that it was pointless to try and take them, but the dagger in the belt showed promise. He gave that to Jake next. “Go and free everyone. Take out as many of Scratch’s men as you can. Knock ‘em out and lock ‘em up, that’d be ideal, because I want to interrogate and incarcerate these guys until they’re just husks of their former selves.”

As Dirk pushed himself to his feet, Jake stared helplessly after him, clutching both key and dagger. It was only when the King reached the door of the cell did he stand.

“You’re going to get Jane, aren’t you.”

Silence. Dirk stilled at the door, and Jake took a step closer.

“She’s important to me too, you know. Important to all of us. If you came with me…if you got everyone else, we could rescue her together. It’s insane to go to her alone, you’ll need reinforcements!” The magenta sparks crackled around Dirk’s hand once more. He held it up, and the Duke frowned. “Oh – well, _fine_ , if you insist on using your Art to turn your opponents into allies then I wish you luck, but surely it can’t be enough for Scratch – ah, Dirk! Wait a second!”

For the King had walked off, not once turning to acknowledge Jake, his eyes for the exit to the dungeon and beyond. “It’ll be enough,” He said softly, “I’ll make it enough.”

Jake did not follow him. He must have taken Dirk’s orders to heart, for as he reached the top of the dungeon stairs he could hear the first screams of The Felt as they were sprung upon and overtaken by a Duke raring for fisticuffs. There were no guards stationed near the dungeon door, which struck Dirk as both a relief and an insult. Apparently Scratch did not expect them to try and revolt, or at least make it above ground. He took no time to notice the sudden sweep of dark clouds that rushed closer from the horizon or the bitter cold that accompanied them, only that the entryway to the castle proper had been damaged heavily by an abandoned battering ram.

As Dirk went inside, he found that the throne room too was devoid of soldiers. The only beings inside were those who had formerly been alive, innocent servants and workmen whose times had come far too soon. It made Dirk’s head spin to see all the blood, but it confused him even more that Scratch’s forces had seemingly shrunk in such a short time. Weren’t there tons of those green bastards crawling all over the place like an infestation of moldy rats? An army doesn’t just disappear in the blink of an eye, it has to be _some_ where.

His eyes fell upon the staircase to the second floor, and his stomach dropped. No…they couldn’t all be up there with Scratch, could they? With Jane? Doing who knew what to her, to the baby – _no_ , Dirk thought, he wouldn’t allow it, he’d find anyone who harmed Jane or the baby and tear their souls asunder, _no one_ touched _his_ family, not when it had been fractured for so many years, not when it was finally repaired and _growing_. He pulled himself up the stairs two at a time, nearly a flash to the naked eye. At the top his lungs burned for breath, but he held it and strained his ears.

The hallway was empty, but it was not devoid of sound. It had begun to rain, and the pitter-patter of water droplets was merely ambiance for another noise. Muffled though it was, Dirk could make out groans of pain and the haggard rush of breath, all distinctly Jane-like in their rhythm and tone. Though this spiked his anger and urged him to surge forward, Dirk walked slowly along the hallway. He peered around every corner for a member of The Felt that might be waiting to ambush him, poked his nose in both the ladies’ and lords’ suite. All were empty, and that left only one place where Jane could be.

He entered his own room with twice the caution as he had the rooms before, the door barely creaking as he looked inside. The sounds were much clearer in here, so Jane’s presence was assured, but upon first glance the room was empty. The pearl pink curtain had been lowered, casting everything in shadow, and the most Dirk could make out was a pile of blankets on the bed – blankets that moved very suddenly as another strangled cry of anguish sounded, this one more raw and ragged than the ones before. It was as if they curled in on themselves…but blankets couldn’t move. Only the things underneath them –

Dirk threw himself into the room and towards the bed, scrambling for the edge of the blanket. Scratch could have appeared behind him and slit his throat, and he wouldn’t have cared. “Jane?! Jane!!”

The blanket only gave enough to uncover a head, Jane’s head, the circlet still digging into her brow. Her cheeks were like burning coals, and her eyes were clouded, stripped of the spectacles she so needed. Pain still held her attention, and Dirk reached out to hold her shoulders.

“What did he do to you?” His hands began to slide down the outline of her arms, feeling for blood or broken bones. “What hurts? Tell me, Jane, come on, I’ll do what I can and get you out of here, just snap out of…”

For a moment, the thoughts in Dirk’s head and the words on his tongue dried up like water droplets in the desert sun. His hands had found Jane’s, rigid and clenched on the swell of her belly, and in that beat of silence Jane’s eyes cleared. She breathed heavily and took in the sight of Dirk with utter bewilderment.

“Oh,” She gasped, “Oh, I’m…I’m seeing things! This is…terrible, I…”

She squeaked as Dirk tightened his grip on her hands. He trembled. “Jane,” Dirk muttered, “I’m real. I’m here, and I’m going to get you out, but I need to know if you’re too injured to be moved. Tell me what’s wrong. _Now_.”

This combined with the relaxation of her body snapped Jane to her senses. Her eyes widened, and she uncurled herself to bring her arms out from under the covers. Her hands were weak and red, and their attempts to grasp Dirk’s were pitiable at best. “Dirk – Dirk, oh my – how did you get here?”

“I’ll tell you later, don’t worry about it. Get on my page and worry about you.”

It was uncharted territory for the Queen, but she did take a moment, her breaths deep as she looked into Dirk’s eyes. As quickly as she relaxed, something was tensing within her again. Did she anticipate another pang of pain? Did she want to argue? This was far from the time for it, and Dirk would have told her so, if it were not for her next words.

“I don’t think I could…walk out of here…if I _tried_. Dirk, he…Doc Scratch…he wants _me_.”

~*~

_“Do I have a doctorate, necessarily? No. But I would have to argue that omnipotence is just as good, so I highly advise that you trust me.”_

_Jane didn’t trust Scratch as far as she could throw him, but his guiding touch laid her in her own bed, and she couldn’t help but listen. Her mouth stayed put in a tight frown as he kept a hand on her shoulder. It simply rested there, feather light, but it might as well have been pinning her down, for she could not squirm against it. He’d taken off his bracelet and rhythmically rolled the gems in his other hand, between his thumb and forefinger. Periodically he would brush the larimar, sending a new ripple of pain through her body._

_“There is no need for you to worry, Jane,” Doc Scratch said, “Your purpose is on the cusp of realization.” He leaned forward slightly. Jane could see her reflection in his round, featureless head, an expression of fury and horror mingling on her face. “We are quite alike you know. We have both, in our pasts, been the darling of the late, great Lord English.”_

_‘Darling’ would not be the word she used, but Jane did not even have the will to bite back her quip, much less say it._

_“What I was,” Scratch continued, “Generations upon generations ago, was a puppet. An idle sack of stuffing with a blank canvas of a face. I could appear any way my maker wished. Alas, my maker was not one for creativity. She preferred other pursuits. War, conquests…the death of your progenitor. Things like that.”_

_Her progenitor – did he mean the first Crocker? The very first, the one whom Calliope loved so much that, along with the others, was resurrected again and again until she came along?_

_Doc Scratch’s nod couldn’t be any plainer. “Your thoughts are correct. The very first shadow of yourself to walk this earth did so as the bane of my maker’s existence. Empress of demons, Queen of the damned, she had subjugated the humans in her reach to her playthings, but the Cherub Caliborn, young and so enamored with her ruthless ways, would still not bend to her wishes. I was a gift to him, a toy graced with a touch of sentience from the font of Life that flowed from her fingertips, and thus, even in his death I serve him.”_

_The hand on her shoulder moved to her head, petting her curls with the fondness of a father. It sent something cold and sick sliding into Jane’s core._

_“That being said, I’m not happy that he is dead. Not in the least. And I understand you are partly to blame for that.” His fingers tightened around her curls and he_ pulled _, but not a sound came from Jane, painful though it was. “Did you really think a being such as he, with his powers and cunning, did not have a failsafe? Or at least one last loyal friend who would put it into motion?” He let go of her suddenly, and all the screams that had built up in Jane’s throat were set free like bats into the night. His touch returned, on her cheek now, and they were instantly silenced. “You think of Calliope, don’t you? Your dear, sweet, precious Calliope. Capable of the same cunning, wielding the same powers. It is the reason you remember her as dear and sweet and precious that kept her from creating a failsafe. She loved you all far too much to think you would ever kill her and let her_ stay _dead.”_

_As much as Jane hated to admit it, even to herself, Scratch was right. Continuing this cycle of reincarnation, numbing the minds of all she touched into happiness, was the worst of Calliope’s crimes. Even with all her senses, Jane could not find it in her to believe that her late Madame would go to the obviously heinous lengths of Caliborn to preserve herself._

_“The failsafe itself,” Scratch said, interrupting Jane’s thoughts, “Now_ that _you and your little friends have figured out for yourselves, although you don’t realize it. The Beforans play into it, an easy and accessible army of pieces that I could call to my side, with the help of my Maid.” His hand traced her jaw, down her neck, then back up again. He was toying with her, and Jane had no strength or will to fight him off. “I trust you remember Lady Damara Megido. She was my link to my Lord, and to you and yours, brought back from the valley of death with the rest of them. The enchantments that kept her in check are many and complex, too much for your human mind to comprehend, but the end result makes for a very…special servant.”_

_The way he’d said ‘Maid’, both down in the throne room and here, had made Jane all kinds of suspicious. Now, she knew Scratch would tell her just what made Lady Damara so special all this time, and she dreaded to hear it._

_“Damara was chosen, you see. Chosen specifically for her affinity to time and her deadly beauty to fit perfectly alongside Lord English for as long as she was needed. Her will was untamable, yes, but she had no choice in her servitude. It dominated her very soul, and her only release was in death.” Fingers trailed a line across Jane’s throat. “I believe you remember my little gift in the beginning of our game. I do wish Meenah were still alive. That way you could thank her for unlocking the shackles of Damara’s servitude and wearing them in her stead.”_

_No. No, no, this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be true! Only one thing came to mind, and Jane was desperate to drive it back, begging her thoughts to discard it as false, as ludicrous –_

_The hand came to her chin and grabbed it. “Tell me, Jane. Tell me who killed Meenah and took up the shackles next.”_

_Her lips moved, her voice sounded, but not in the cries and screams that bottled up in Jane’s chest. “I…did…s-sir.”_

_“That’s right. And what’s more, you have the power to restore Caliborn’s life.”_

_It was a truth that sat itself firmly on Jane’s chest, leering down at her with familiar red eyes. All these years believing she was free, when it was only a matter of time before her fate was sealed! With the return of Caliborn came the end of any promise of peace. With him, her family and friends and all the innocent people of Prospit and Derse would be punished, forced to toil until their death under tyranny and fear, of that she had no doubt. I cannot allow it, Jane thought, I will not! But such things the enchantments of her servitude did not permit._

_“I can see you’re not exactly a fan of the idea,” Scratch said. He paused when he noticed the glare of Jane’s eyes. “And yes, I am aware that is a gross understatement. When Lord Caliborn returns, you will be used to slaughter the royal courts and then kneel before him as his concubine. It shall be fitting of your pedigree, and besides, you’ve grown to his liking.” Again he fell silent as her glare intensified. “But I am nothing if I am not an excellent host, or in this case, an excellent placeholder of a master. I am well aware of the hardship your new existence will bring. Therefore, I would like to propose a deal.”_

_Whatever deal he had, he could take it and shove it where the sun didn’t shine. Jane made no deals with devils. She was Queen, and her word was…_

_Her word mattered not against the brush of Scratch’s thumb. “W-What…sort of…deal?”_

_“Why, I’m so glad you asked.” With a flick of his wrist, the larimar stone was in his grasp, though he made no move to press it. The anticipation of pain prickled against Jane’s skin. “The Art of Life is very peculiar. It heals, rejuvenates, resurrects, and even facilitates the start of life itself. If left to your devices, it would only allow you to give birth in a few more weeks. Like clockwork, one might say, in all ways but one – it is ultimately subject to your will.” His head loomed over her like a white sun. “And, by way of Maid, your will is subject to mine. I offer you this, Jane Crocker: give birth to your child and leave it behind to come with me, or allow yourself to exhaust to the point of death and set the shackles on the babe.”_

_A single flare of resistance flickered in Jane, and she managed to squirm under Scratch’s touch. “Wh…what…?”_

_“Oh come now. You’re an intelligent young lady, and I’m not speaking in riddles. You either fulfill your duty or pass it on to the child. Someone’s got to do it, after all. There is no escape, and frankly, there is very little time for you to decide, as I have run out of patience.”_

_A hand pressed on the top of Jane’s belly, the larimar gem digging into her navel. Immediately a bolt of pain shot through her, and she finally screamed, whether through her own will or by Scratch’s grace she couldn’t tell. With the pain came a wetness and a distinct cramping._

_“I order you,” Scratch said, “To give birth, and to make the labor quick. An hour at most. That should be enough time for you to decide.”_

_The moment he lifted his hands Jane felt her willpower flooding back, but by then it was too late. She clutched her belly desperately as the cramps racked her body – contractions, her mind told her – and he tossed a blanket over her body before he left, a crackling and the faint scent of ozone all that remained of Doc Scratch._

~*~

All this Jane told Dirk through winces and strangled cries, each one driving him closer and closer to a fury unparalleled. And yet…he could not move, nor could he look away from his betrothed.

He had failed. As King, as husband, as father, he had fucked up spectacularly. It didn’t matter that no one could have predicted Scratch’s true identity. It didn’t matter that there was no way of knowing about this awful curse that enslaved the unwitting. All that mattered to him was Jane and their innocent, unknown child. She didn’t deserve this, and neither did someone who hadn’t even been born. That fucker set them up like a house of cards, and he was watching them collapse on themselves like it was some sort of grand, long-awaited spectacle. He probably had popcorn ready and everything.

 “Scratch…he’s not getting our son,” Jane said suddenly. She squeezed Dirk’s hands. “Not Sebastian. I…I won’t allow it…”

The name jolted Dirk from his stupor. “…Sebastian…?”

Jane managed a smile. “You…you don’t like the name…?”

Oh, God. Oh, _God_. “It sounds…like the dweebiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Dirk said, but he smiled all the same. “I…I fucking love it. But, Jane…”

Her eyes closed. “I know. He’ll take me. I know, but…”

“But he _won’t_.” The force in Dirk’s voice made Jane’s eyes pop open. “I’ll stop him. I’m here now, and – Jake had his pistols on him, he gave them to me, and they’ve only got one shot each but I’m going to blast Scratch’s head open and rip his soul right out of his floppy puppet body, I’ll burn his remains and bury them in the very center of the earth if it means he’ll never come back. Fucking hell, Jane, I’m not losing _any_ one else to this guy!”

They were words fueled by vengeance, righteous and all-consuming, and they blinded him to how Jane’s eyes widened, flickering to Dirk’s sides, where the strap of a pistol’s holster peeked out from under his coat. She was quickly overcome with another surge of pain, gritting her teeth as the contraction took its toll. It was worse than all the others before it, for her entire body shook in its wake, and her knuckles turned white as she gripped his hand.

“Dirk,” Jane gasped, “Dirk, he’s – he’s _coming_ , I can’t stop - !” A scream erupted from her throat, and all the heat and color from Dirks’ face drained away.

As brilliant as his fury burned, there were things that had to be done. There were things that had to happen. He couldn’t rally against Scratch if Scratch wasn’t here, and he sure as hell couldn’t stand by helplessly as Jane gave birth.

Dirk shucked off his coat and quickly balled it up, lifting Jane with all the care in the world to put it behind her head and prop her up on as many pillows as he could reach. He pulled off the blanket next, tucking it underneath her head and around her sides to make a funny little nest, just to keep Jane cushioned. A stain seeped from underneath her, tinting the white sheets the faintest shades of yellow and red. “Oh, God,” He hissed, wrinkling his nose. “We’re – we’re getting new sheets after this. Lots of new sheets. All of the new sheets.”

“I couldn’t care – _AAH!_ Ah, ah, _Dirk_ -”

Never would Dirk admit to nearly tripping over his own feet when he ran to the end of the bed, brow furrowed as he bent her knees and spread her legs. He only had the faintest of ideas of what he was doing, acting on hunch after hunch, and it was a miracle that something really awful hadn’t happened yet. Fuck, he thought, shouldn’t he have clean hands for this? His hands weren’t clean. He’d handled blankets covered with _stuff_ and touched the nasty floor of the dungeon and a fair amount of blood, if he were a doctor the medical community would hoist him out by his own petard. What in his right mind thought he could deliver a goddamn baby, his own child at that?

Over the knees went the skirt of Jane’s dress, and Dirk immediately wished he could pull it back down. All that can be said in polite company of the sight before him was that it was more than enough to knock him from his senses. In front of him was something as gory as war, as alien as the brooding caverns of the trolls, and as frightening as his own failure…but who else did Jane have? He’d be an idiot not to feel the agony in her every sound and movement.

In the years to come, Dirk would never properly remember just what happened in those moments, frantic and strange and stretching on for eons. His mind’s eye would flicker with images of bloodsoaked hands, the echo of Jane’s screaming forever ringing in his ears, and the slickness of something that wriggled too much and looked too long to be real. Only when the gook and gross stuff was wiped away, and a line cracked open to take a first gulp of air in the form of a toothless grimace and grunting cry would his recollection clear again.

A baby – just one, still sticky and glistening but a baby nonetheless – writhed in Dirk’s arms, flailing with all the strength he could muster, for it _was_ a he after all, biologically at least. Fine, blond hair grew thick on his tiny head, and though his face was mostly red from squalling breaths, Dirk could see it bore the same dark duskiness of his mother. Newborn babies were ugly little things, but even if he’d come into the world deformed or monstrous, the soothing warmth in Dirk’s heart wouldn’t be any less than it was now. It took the snarling anger that held the reigns of his actions and grounded it firmly in peace.

“Jane,” He said, his voice naught but a whisper, “Jane you – you were right. It really is a boy…”

_click_

Dirk’s eyes flickered up from the tiny human in his arms. There Jane sat, propped up and breathing hard, smiling through anguished tears. There was a pistol in her hand, held to her forehead.

How did she –

“I’m sorry, Dirk.”

His left side felt light –

 “It’s the only way.”

The barrel glinted in the darkness –

 “I’ve got to stop it-”

His mouth opened, and he reached out towards her, imploring with all of his might, Jane, no, _no_ –

The blast was deafening. Jane’s body slumped over, her hand dropping the filched pistol to the floor. Blood and brain dripped freely from the wound in her head, splattered behind her in a morbid blot. It was an injury no one could survive, that no user of the Art of Life could rebound from even if they tried with all of their might, for such blows to the head snuffed the candle of life instantly.

Jane was dead, and by her own hand. Covered in fluids he could not name, numb to the world and a crying baby shivering in his arms, Dirk stood riveted before her body. No thought floated to the surface, the hows and whys and what could he have dones all suppressed underneath a layer of absolute nothingness. The blast had hollowed him, and yet had filled him until there was room for nothing else.

A crackle of Space danced along the curtains, and they rose, allowing the wan light of a rainy day into the bloodsoaked room. The sparks then moved to the door, slowly building into a figure. It spoke before it properly formed.

“I believe you’ve made your decision by now, Jane, and I thank you for it – a shame Lord Caliborn will not know your pleasures, but your child will be a suitable…”

Dirk pulled out the remaining pistol of his own accord. The moment Scratch was solid another bang rang through the room, and a clean hole appeared in his spherical head, out one end and through the other. Nothing leaked from it.

Scratch took a moment to look over at Jane before he turned to Dirk, slowly and with great measure. His head moved up and down, as if he was sizing up the King. “Ah,” He said. There was the slightest of tremors to his voice. “You are here…as I knew you would be. With the child. As I knew it would be.” A hand reached out towards Jane, pointing accusingly at her body. “This…is not what I knew. Not at all.”

There was something in the way he carried himself, furious and yet still so calm, that Dirk quickly found repulsive. He hugged his wailing son to his chest. “And what was it that you knew?” He asked. “That she’d accept any of your shitty offers?”

The finger whipped around to point at him, and Space crackled new around Scratch. “It should have been _you_ ,” He said, “ _You_ were to kill her – to take the mantle – and then be killed by your _child!_ It was the _only_ other option! This…there is no Maid with this! There is no servant!!”

“And no one who would _ever_ do your bidding.”

Magenta sparked along Dirk’s free hand, and he thrust it forward. The sparks leapt to Scratch, mingling with Space and pushing him back…no, bringing him forward…no, it was neither of those things. The moment magenta had latched onto Scratch, it seemed to tug at some phantom of himself, pulling it forward while his body leaned back, becoming more limp with every passing moment. He screamed and struggled for his bracelet of gems, but fire opal would not tame the beast that Dirk had become.

“You _really_ thought Jane would make that kind of gambit?” Dirk asked. “You really thought she’d force _any_ one to help you?” Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, and yet there was no waver in his voice. “You tricked her, tricked all of us, and even tricked hordes of trolls into following your faux rebellion schtick for your own ends, and you really couldn’t see that she’d do whatever it took to make them unreachable?” Scratch did not answer him, so consumed he was by what Dirk knew was the most torturous pain one can endure: the extraction of one’s soul. It was like heartbreak and migraines and a million teensy needles piercing the flesh at once, electrocuting the nerves and stripping the body of its consciousness. “You’re supposed to be omnipotent, right? That’s what Jane told me. You gave an ultimatum thinking we’d take a third option and you never planned for a _fourth?!_ ”

The phantom and the solid Scratch were nearly separated now, only held together by the thinnest of magenta sparks. They straightened into strings, entwining with Dirk’s fingers, and he spared no thought before yanking them forward. The tie between Scratch’s soul and body was severed, and while the latter fell back like a wet sack and the remainder of the white dome head shattered, the former hovered before the King.

For all the things Scratch had done to them, there was no alive who would show him mercy. With one last force of Dirk’s will, the soul of the Benefactor of Beforan cracked and shattered, and the phantom image disintegrated. Without a soul, the puppet body on the ground held no threat. It was simply a broken, abandoned toy, and Dirk turned his back on it. There was no need to dwell on that which was no more.

The rain ceased at that moment, and the sun’s rays seeped down into the room, bringing with them a golden glow and a solemn, sacred air. Jane’s blood had crept further across the bed sheets, and if Dirk squinted his eyes, it was almost as if she lay amidst roses. Why Jane had killed herself was elementary to the fiercely analytical part of his mind. Clearly she had felt the bindings of Scratch’s shackles, and he, believing her harmless to his plot, told her the only path to freedom – death. If given to her by another, they would take on the mantle of servant, but where did the mantle go if she took her own life? To no one. It was a loophole she could only have used if her death could be instant, and the moment she knew Dirk had brought Jake’s pistols, she had her out.

Dirk heaved a sound between a laugh and a sob. “I told you,” He said, “I begged you not to do this anymore…to put yourself on the line…to think of us…”

And yet she’d done it because she thought of them. Jane had pulled the trigger in order to ensure that Doc Scratch and Caliborn would never inflict harm upon her family and friends and people ever again. An act which many would call selfish, desperate, foolish…and she had turned it into something selfless. Technically, it was the ideal outcome.

But it did not hurt any less to know so.

As Dirk stared at Jane with eyes overflowing, the babe in his arms had calmed, growing accustomed to Dirk’s warmth. He wiggled and clung uncertainly to his father, and his eyes, like pink pearls and smoke, had fixated on Jane’s body as well. Though cries still came in sputtered spurts, it was as if the sight of his mother had called his attention. Almost instinctually, Dirk shifted the baby so he lay more comfortably against his chest. His lips grazed the soft little head.

“You should…meet your Mama,” Dirk muttered. He got as close to Jane as he possibly could, cautiously positioning her arms and plucking the pistol from her hand. She hadn’t stiffened with rigor mortis yet, but already her skin had begun to pale to a sickly shade. “She always gave…absolutely everything she had…for you, and for me.” With all the care he could muster, his tears dripping on Jane and their son, he tucked the baby in her arms. A piece of her cyan sash, laying wayward on the bed and somehow untouched by blood, was tucked over him, and Dirk reached over to close Jane’s eyes before he finally stood back. It would have made a beautiful picture, Dirk thought, and he covered both his eyes.

Only then, in the arms of his mother, did the baby fall silent. His breath calmed, and he looked upon Jane with a bewildered innocence. His ear, nestled next to her bosom, heard no heartbeat, and he grunted once, twice. Even newly born, he knew something was not right, and for a brief moment it seemed he would cry again, begging a corpse for the attention it could never give.

And then…the baby boy began to glow.

Dirk saw it by chance, having moved his hand to wipe his tears away, but once he spied the strange, pearly light he stilled. It seemed to creep like the beginning embers of a flame, growing just warm enough to catch on all that surrounded it, but not enough to engulf it completely. It wrapped around Jane, encasing her until she became the light itself, tinged with cyan that grew stronger and stronger with every passing moment.

And then, as suddenly as it came, it dispelled with a great gasp of breath, and Dirk would swear for the rest of his days that his infant son smiled as he looked upon his mother, a shiny scar all that remained of her circlet’s hold and her bullet wound. Her chest rose and fell, and the bloom of health returned to her tear-and-bloodstained cheeks.

The very first thought in Dirk’s head was that his son hadn’t even been born an hour and already he was a criminal prince. That was irony on a level even he couldn’t comprehend. The second was that of pure disbelief.

He collapsed to his knees in shock, clinging to the side of the bed, and took Jane’s shoulder to shake it. “J…Jane…?”

The soft moan that escaped her lips was like the sweetest of songs to Dirk’s ears. Jane stirred, shifting in the bed, and her eyes cracked open, tired and hazy but glimmering with life. Her mouth fell open. “Oh,” Jane breathed, “ _Oh_ …death is cruel…don’t tell me he’s killed you, Dirk…who will take care of the baby…?”

Never had Dirk wanted to laugh and cry at the same time and with all of his remaining strength. He pulled himself up into the bed, not caring how bloody it was, and he hugged and kissed Jane with an unparalleled euphoria. The babe cried anew, snapping Jane from her haze, and realization slowly dawned on her face.

By the grace of forces no one could ever know or name, the Queen of Prospit had been granted another chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's just one last chapter after this one. After all, I can't end this story so abruptly, can I?
> 
> I have been dying to write this for ages and ages and AGES! To see it all out there in text is surreal and a huge relief, because I've been writing my fingers to the bone for this fic and I desperately need a break, but not until it's finished!
> 
> ...Er...that all being said...sorry for the emotional rollercoaster of this chapter. It's something else, I know it is. Send your tissue bills to me.


	20. Sebastian

True to his word, Dirk had Doc Scratch’s remains burned and buried as far deep as anyone was able to dig. The precaution wasn’t necessary, seeing as the puppet’s soul had been obliterated. Still, after their previous bungles, no one wanted to take any chances and hang his body like a trophy on the throne room wall, no matter how gratifying it would be to look up during audiences and see it hanging there, forever motionless. After all, there was no telling how long it would stay forever motionless.

The story of the monarchs’ fight against the Benefactor spread quickly throughout the lands, though not nearly as detailed as the one the nobles and royals heard. Only they knew the significance of Jane’s scars, and on the evening of that fateful day, with the blood and bodies cleaned away and The Felt safely under lock and key, they pulled out the throne room table and chairs and sat around it to discuss what to do. For a moment it was as if the spirits of their fallen friends hovered nearby marveling at what the end of this war had brought, and then the feeling was gone, their curiosity sated and their souls at peace.

“We really can’t charge a wiggler with anything,” Terezi said once Jane and Dirk had relayed the tale of Scratch’s treachery. She frowned at Sebastian. He was a source of curiosity for all the trolls, but not one of them had ventured too close, or even sat near the young Queen. It would clearly take some time for them to adjust to the babe. “I mean, what would he do when questioned by His Honorable Tyranny? Drool? No being alive can make a judgment with that sort of testimony!”

“Let’s just call it our secret happy miracle,” Gamzee said. He scrunched his nose and grinned lazily at Terezi’s scoff. “That little motherfucker didn’t know what he was all up and doin’ anyways. We’re all good, so what’s the problem?”

It was probably the one time where Lord Makara’s ease with the world made the most amount of sense – in regards to this at least. Karkat slumped onto the table and ran his hands through his hair. “You do realize we’ve got other shit to deal with, don’t you? We are _far_ from ‘all good’, Gamzee, we’re up to our necks in bodies, we’re going to have to issue formal apologies to the families of the dead and actually get our two chuckleheaded monarchs married for real, not to mention all the crap other countries’ll throw at us-”

A piece of green stone knocked into one of Karkat’s horns, and he hissed and swore as he rubbed it. “Why d’you have to be so negative about it?” Jade asked. In her hand were more bits of her namesake, pried out of her jewelry from her time in the dungeons. “We’ll never get anything done if we’re all doom and gloom! So there’s a lot of problems. So what? When are there never problems? Complaining about them isn’t going to make them go away!”

“I agree with Jade,” Rose added, “We need to focus on our actions rather than our reactions.”

“I think we need to focus on taking a damn break,” Dave said. He pointedly ignored his cousin’s narrowed eyes. “Like, I’m pretty sure everyone in here is as tired as I am, if not more. All we’ve been doing for over a year now is fighting and planning and mourning and basically everything not-fun under the sun. Don’t we deserve one day where we don’t have to think about being leaders?”

“I don’t think it’s about deserving,” John said. “It’s about how needed we are. And we’re needed a _lot_.”

“Yes, John, I know. Hence why I say, we need a goddamn packing montage up in this bitch. And then a roadtrip sequence, followed by checking into a hotel and an entire act of subsequently shaking up the status quo. Have you not seen any vacation-themed theater productions? Shit’s par the course.”

“I’ve seen plenty!”

“Could’ve fooled me-”

Jake groaned and stood up to part the boys. Out of all who had toiled in the dungeons, he looked the most tired, his hands covered with nicks from his knife and dagger and bruises from The Felt’s punches peppering his skin like a dog’s spots. “Please, _please_ , no arguments!” He begged, and pointed to Jane and Dirk. “You’ll wake them.”

Indeed, it seemed that both Jane and Dirk had fallen asleep at the table, their heads leaning on each other’s shoulders, Sebastian snoozing comfortably in Jane’s arms. How they could have fallen asleep with such important talk going on was beyond anyone’s reasoning, but John and Dave both pressed their mouths tightly shut regardless.

Roxy tried to suppress a giggle. “Hopy _shit_ ,” she whispered, “They’re _out_. And they need a vay-cay the most, there’s no _way_ they’ll get one.”

“Exactly,” Jake said, “So let them sleep now, while they can, if you _please_.”

Silence settled around the table for a moment, like a pact of sorts, to keep voices low and tempers mild. Only Kanaya came forward to break it, clearing her throat with a soft rumble. “Perhaps…we could arrange something for them,” She said, “Some time away from all of this, to bond with the human child and…so their respiteblock can be cleaned. I’m sure there must be an inn in town who wouldn’t mind hosting part of the royal family for a few days. Then, once they’ve returned, two of us will take our own break, and so on until we’ve all had some time to relax.”

“Tho we’re taking perthonal dayth in pairth?” Sollux asked. He raised an eyebrow at the notion. “That’th weird, KN. I like it.”

Aradia jabbed him playfully in the ribs. “You would,” She said, and a spark of Sollux’s former gibe tugged his mouth into a smile.

It took no vote; all were agreed on this fun little surprise, and though they were weary from their struggles below they set to put the plan into motion immediately. Much would happen in the coming days, of that they needed no Seer to tell them, no visions to haunt their waking moments. In time The Felt would be interrogated, stripped of strange artifacts that were quickly placed into the custody of Dave and Aradia, for Time radiated from them like a foul stench. In time, the soldiers would return from their expedition in the south, bearing news of a dilapidated manor surrounded by groves of orange trees and full of the remnants of the Beforans, apologetic to the last for leaving their home behind when it needed them the most. In time, a new wedding would be thrown, organized with great care and filled with commoners and royalty alike, the younger sets of foreign dignitaries coming forth to see with their own eyes the strange and wondrous courts of which so many fantastical stories now circulated. In time, a thin circlet of white with a single pink pearl would be placed snuggly onto Sebastian’s tiny head, christening him as Prince of two grand lands united now under one flag and one name: The Monarchy of Skaia.

In time, these things would come. But for now, Jane and Dirk slept in the throne room, surrounded by those they loved, and in their dreams all that had been granted to them was cherished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And with that, it ends.
> 
> It's a short epilogue. It's full of tired yet triumphant young adults, seeing the world as a great road ahead full of obstacles that they know they will have to overcome, and yet they can find peace in it. They will make it work, and they will live, and that is the most important thing.
> 
> I want to sincerely thank every last one of you for your time, your love, your support, and your interest in this little project of mine. Do I think Of Scattered Ashes is as great as Of Royal Forge? No, probably not, but it's a story I worked just as hard to bring to you and I am proud to have finished it. I hope that in working on this series, I've given a little something to you to think about, or to inspire you, or anything at all, because all of you inspire me every day.
> 
> That being said, Forgestuck still isn't over. I have plans for another story starting in the spring of 2015, and at least another small oneshot before this year is out, along with...you know, as many one shots as I want, because this is my AU and I can keep building on it for as long as I am able.
> 
> Again, thank you all for reading. Thank you, thank you, thank you. <3

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S HERE! IT'S FINALLY HERE!
> 
> I am so, so happy to finally bring you Of Scattered Ashes, the sequel I've been building up and I know some of you have been anticipating! As was the case for ORF, if you happened to notice, I'll be updating the tags as some of the more spoilery plot threads happen, so what you see up there? There's some more things coming, I assure you, and however long this fic takes to finish, I hope you enjoy the ride.


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